by Caity

Four hours ago, I walked out of the Seattle cinerama--one of the last four theaters of its kind in the world--awestruck by Denis Villenuve’s latest cinematic marvel. Sixteen hours before that, I was falling asleep watching the cult classic it was based on.

Now before any flamethrowers comment on this basing their responses purely on the title of my post and that line, I will say that I paused the film as soon as I noticed my weariness, went to sleep, and finished it the next morning so that I did not miss any part of the film. And for the most part, I enjoyed it. Ridley Scott created a beautifully shot film with an amazing score, and it had one of the most moving antagonist death scenes I’ve seen on screen. I even forgave the ridiculousness of Roy jumping across building tops clutching a dove after he uttered the line, “All those memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain.”

But as someone who identifies as both a cinephile and general fan of science fiction, this film was a bit of a let down. A large part of that is due to the source material--Philip K. Dick’s novel “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” Our protagonist, Deckard, a generally uninteresting bounty hunter type, learns of four rogue replicants who have returned to earth and are causing chaos, and he then proceeds to hunt down and “retire” them. (It’s not execution if they’re not humans!) That’s the whole plot--incredibly linear. Sure, along the way, he develops a loose romantic connection with another replicant, Rachel, who is having a bit of an identity crisis after learning she’s not really human, but Rachel’s purpose in the film is mostly for Deckard to realize that maybe replicants are people after all. (And spoiler alert--he might be one too!) The final scene with Roy showing empathy and recounting his love of life as he slowly dies accomplished that point way more than any of the moments with Rachel.

So why was the new one better? I’ll tell you five reasons in the least spoiler-y way I can.

1) Representation: The first film created a world that, understandably, featured Chinese people, food, and language assuming the future interconnected world of 2019 would be influenced by the planet’s majority culture, but basically every main character was white, and overwhelming male. There were three female characters, Rachel, Pris, and Zhora. Zhora got zero character development, Pris, a “pleasure model,” was essentially a sexual being whose main goal was not dying, and Rachel, while empathetic and given a decent amount of screentime, did not really have a personality. 

Blade Runner 2049 had TWO black people (they didn’t disappear in this futuristic world--I wasn’t sure), a few Latino people including Edward James Olmos revisiting his role from the first one, and a much more balanced male to female cast. Robin Wright, ever powerful, plays a police chief who perhaps values order over individual life. Ana de Armas plays an AI with a heart of gold. Carla Juri gave a stunning performance as a memory scientist/artist. And Mackenzie Davis plays a charming prostitute. Furthermore, Sylvie Hoeks’s character “Luv” was a typical badass right-hand man type. The role could have easily been played by a man, but it wasn’t! Speaking of the antagonists and representation, Jared Leto plays a wealthy CEO desperate to find a way to make even more money, and he was blind. It did not hinder his ability to do his job, and it also wasn’t his only character trait. It was just...part of who he was. It was awesome.

While the film could have included some more people of color in prominent roles and an LGBTQ character should have been included, overall, the cast of the second film was significantly more diverse than the first.

2) Storyline and characterization. I already mentioned the lackluster plot of the first one, but 2049 was brilliant! Instead of telling the audience in a 10 minute infodump exactly what’s going to happen at the start of the movie, we discover details of a curious case alongside our protagonist, K. We make predictions that are sometimes true, and sometimes we’re thrown some curveballs. And unlike the first one, I actually cared about the people in the film. They had backstories, reasonable motivations, and enough screen time to fully develop them along the way. The first movie was 1 hour 57 minutes long and dragged. The second was 2 hours 43 minutes and I did not notice the time go by.

3) Female Sexuality. I haven’t done much research, but I’m sure there are plenty of angry blogs about the sex scene in the original film. If you are unfamiliar with this scene, let me tell you: it did not age well. And while the new movie tried to excuse it, providing evidence that Rachel was interested in Deckard from the moment they met, it’s really hard for me to watch a scene where a woman actively runs away from a man who kissed her, is blocked, and then told to say “Kiss me” to him and think to myself, “Oh yeah, this seems consensual. She’s definitely not just saying that out of fear of her current situation.” The new film was not able to change what was made, so the writers, Hampton Fancher and Michael Green, played it off as she was afraid of any form of intimacy with a man she was interested in, and not just afraid of Deckard himself. Way to work with what you’ve got fellas! But the new film’s sex scene was completely the opposite. Ryan Gosling’s K is completely satisfied with not being able to touch his romantic partner. However, she wants more and finds a creative way to get around the whole holograms-don’t-have mass thing. It was a moving moment and definitely a step forward for female sexuality.

4) Social Commentary. While the Original Blade Runner definitely hit on the idea of overpopulation (people had to move off of planet earth!) that wasn’t the main goal. And it did bring up the important question of “what does it mean to be human?” subverting the idea that “antagonist” means “bad guy.” The replicants just wanted to live. But Blade Runner 2049 took it a step forward--replicants are second class citizens for no real reason other than they aren’t the ones in power. I’m sure the line, “Dying for the right cause? What could be more human than that?” resonated with many people in the audience.

On top of that, there was a ton of social commentary on resource management and global warming. LA had to be walled off from the rising ocean tide, there was constant rain, and for some reason, it alternated between snowing and scorching heat over the course of very little time and distance.

5) Cinematography. Ok, actually, the cinematography of the first one was brilliant. No complaints here. But the new one does not disappoint. #giveDenisVillenuveadamnOscar

by Caity

I consume a lot of media. Movies, books, podcasts, video games—I’m all about a good story. My favorite form of storytelling is the serialized, character driven television show. Thankfully, I live in a time of “peak tv” so I’ve got plenty of quality shows to choose from. I’m not really picky on drama/comedy, as long as there are characters for me to love or hate and dialogue that isn’t so distractingly bad that I’m removed from the world. I just got off spring break (I know—something most adults don’t get anymore), so I decided to catch up on the controversial HBO comedy—GIRLS just in time for the series finale which aired on Sunday, April 16. And while I was watching, I couldn’t help but find myself drawing comparisons to another very popular, award winning, long running series: Mad Men.

The two shows have a lot in common. They both take place mostly in New York with various other locations as side plots throughout the seasons. They both center around a protagonist who, despite being an awful person, continually finds success both in their work and sexual relationships and who is continually unhappy, thus spending their show searching for fulfillment. They both have ensemble casts full of complex characters who make a lot of mistakes—some of which they learn from and others they just try to forget about—all the while you as a viewer are somehow still rooting for their happy ending.

They both are more focused on character development and growth rather than being plot driven. They both show the problems associated with drug abuse and unhealthy relationships. They both analyze a very specific time period and subset of people living then (generally upper middle class white people, but that’s a common issue in television heavily discussed on the internet.) But where Mad Men focuses on the silent generation in the 60s, GIRLS focuses on millennials in modern day. And then there is the overwhelmingly obvious difference: GIRLS is female led whereas Mad Men is not.

Now that isn’t a good or bad thing. Mad Men has some amazing female leads—I wish I could hang out with Peggy and Joan and learn how to be a badass while still remaining professional. And the men in GIRLS are some of the best characters. Ray is probably the only one on the show I would feel confident describing as a good human being (but I could also go to bat to justify a lot of Elijah and Shoshana’s actions. That’s another topic for a different day.) But GIRLS focuses on what it’s like as a young woman today, and Mad Men showed us the life of an ad man in the past.

So why didn’t Mad Men get as much hate? I don’t remember seeing buzz pieces about how Don Draper just needed to grow up. No one complained it was unrealistic that Vincent Kartheiser’s character continued to hookup with women despite his appearance becoming less conventionally attractive as the show went on. (The fact that the hair/makeup team intentionally gave him an increasingly more intense receding hairline is actually one of my favorite details of the show’s production.)

No one argued that the characters needed to change professions to actually contribute to society. Part of this is probably that working at Sterling Cooper is the epitome of a “real job” for many people’s metrics, but I really don’t see how their work gave back in anyway. Their whole objective was to convince masses of people to spend money on things they don’t actually need. Ray at least became a community board member. Hannah turned to education (however bad she was at a high school level, she was trying to do good and probably succeeds in some ways at the college where she ends up). Jessa was working on becoming a therapist to help other addicts, though her career path perhaps fell through. But most of the characters on GIRLS don’t have 401Ks, so obviously they aren’t successful.

Believe me, I fully recognize how “meta” this might be for a young woman to be analyzing potential sexism in pop culture by writing a blog about...a woman who analyzes sexism in pop culture by writing blogs. But season six’s “American Bitch” was one of the most profoundly complex episodes of television—analyzing consent and power dynamics between men and women, and I fear many people will never see it because they wrote off the show as being all about self centered, immature, well, girls. And that just didn’t happen with Mad Men, despite our lead man continually cheating on his wife with both prostitutes and women he meets throughout the show, yelling at his children for little to no reason, controlling his second wife’s career due to jealousy, spiraling into alcoholism and drug abuse, bailing on his professional commitments, and, consistent with the time, being a bit racist, sexist, and anti semitic. But all of Don Draper’s negative character traits are excused because of the time period or perhaps more specifically because they are expectations of men during this time period. 

In contrast, Hannah’s negative character traits are generally the opposite of expectations for women. She’s loud and a tad abrasive. She’s unashamed and unapologetic of her “unconventional” body. She has a lot of sex with different people and doesn’t care who knows it. She’s selfish and narcissistic. She doesn’t really take responsibility for her actions. She’s not often a good friend. These are things we aren’t used to seeing in women in television—especially not women we’re supposed to be empathizing and rooting for. It’s no surprise that some people cannot handle her.

I also think it’s important to note that it is impossible to separate GIRLS from Lena Dunham. Jon Hamm—while a talented actor and arguably the heart of the success of his show—was not the main creator/writer/showrunner. And for various reasons, people have decided they hate this 30 year old writer/producer/actress/director, and so perhaps that’s why they hate the show. But both shows have been critically successful and won awards (specifically the Golden Globe for best television series in their respective categories), so the incredibly different public reception baffles me.

I have many friends who identify as television connoisseurs who loved Mad Men, but whenever I bring up GIRLS to my fellow pretentious viewers, I usually get, “Ugh, I just couldn’t handle it. They’re all so annoying.” You could argue that with a longer episode length and just more episodes overall, Mad Men was able to tell a more complex story over time. You could also argue that because it was a period drama, it made the viewer reflect on humanity as a whole and how it has progressed in some ways, but not so much in others. And you might even be able to argue that with GIRLS being a comedy that thrives on revealing the awkwardness of real life on a channel that happily shows more nudity, it just isn’t for everyone.

via Motivational.Mornings 

→ Cindy Gallop isn’t taking any shit In an interview with The Guardian, Gallop rips the rose-colored glasses off “Mad Men" fanatics in one sentence: “Advertising is dominated by white guys talking to white guys.” Who run the world? Peggy and Joan. 

→ babe.wear Meet the new t-shirt line from kaitmvp of dearscarlet whose Instagram makes me cry at least once a day (good cry). “This is a body positive Tshirt company and social media project. You are not a babe DESPITE your flaws. You're just a freakin babe.” Amen.   

by Grace

I haven’t written about Donald Trump, because my thoughts on him feel pretty self-explanatory. But then I woke up this morning and saw his latest nugget of wisdom:

(original tweet)

Other than blatant lack of professionalism, let’s break down the implications of Mr. Trump’s message here:

I won’t call her a [derogatory slang term for an attractive but unintelligent female]. Instead I will only say that she’s bad at her job.

Oh, only that.

However, Mr. Trump isn’t re-inventing the wheel here. He’s simply following in the footsteps of the millions of internet trolls before him by attacking women online from behind the keyboard. 

You may be shocked to realize that Donald Trump is simply perpetuating an ongoing cycle of abuse. If a woman posts a picture of herself on the internet, the responses are horrifying. Anonymous tweeters fire off in rapid succession that a woman should “go kill yourself, fatty,” or that she’s a slut/whore/bitch for showing her body in the first place.

A 2014 Pew Research Center survey found that women experienced higher rates of stalking and sexual harassment threats online (which to that, I just have to say, “duh”). It is important to note that men were also found to be victims of online harassment in this study, with 51% of men 18-24 reporting being called offensive names and 26% physically threatened. Yet in comparison, young women were found to be a particularly at-risk group. Only 7% of men ages 18-24 reported being stalked, compared to one in four women ages 18-24, and one in four women were targeted by online sexual harassment, compared to 13% of men. 

In fact, if you’re in the mood for some online harassment and threats to your life, you don’t even have to post pictures of yourself, you just have to be a woman who shares her opinion online. A female author had an online troll create a fake Twitter profile of her recently deceased father, complete with a picture of him and bio that read, “Embarrassed father of an idiot.” 

 But online harassment and behavior towards women doesn’t just stay online. In a study published in last year’s Computers in Human Behavior, researchers asked participants to anonymously share or write tweets that incorporated a “sexist hashtag.” Afterwards, these same participants were asked to complete a survey and job hiring evaluation in which they evaluated both male and female candidates’ resumes. Their findings? Participants who composed sexist tweets reported “greater hostile sexism and ranked female job candidates as less competent.”

Cosmpolitan and Esquire also partnered together in 2015 to conduct a survey on what men and women agree on when it comes to sex – including on issues of assault and harassment. Many of their numbers came in close, with solid agreement on what constitutes as blatant sexual harassment and the fact that women are being demeaned in popular culture. However, the authors still noted:

“…when it comes to how men and women perceive one another’s actions and intentions – when we get into issues of frequency and degree – things get weird. It gets weird when we talk about sexual harassment -  not because men and women define it differently (we don’t), but because women say they witness and experience it all the time, and men tend to say they only hear about it.”

This is typically the reaction I get when I discuss street harassment with other people. In my previous pieces about street harassment, I’ve written about getting cat-called during my runs, while walking my dog, and getting groped in the check-out line at Target. Male readers often respond with surprise, while female readers respond with their own stories. It’s “I can’t believe that happened,” vs. “I remember when this happened to me too.”

I follow a lot of insanely intelligent, fearless women on Twitter. I like to fill my feed with people I aspire to be more like, or who challenge me to be a better person. Two local women I follow recently made the news for their experiences with harassment, online and in real life. One penned a piece on why men should stop asking women to smile, which resulted in threats towards herself and her young son. The other has begun calling out men for their shirtless selfies, highlighting the double standard between men and women’s bodies. Her mentions are littered with harassment as well. And these are just two women who dared to share their opinion.  

I’ve watched this happen time and time again, and each time, I pause a little longer before I share something or write a piece. If I mention GamerGate, will someone dox me? If I post a picture of myself at the gym, will someone comment telling me I’m “a slut dying for attention?” In fear of online harassment, am I, like millions of women, being pressured into self-censorship? Even if I am as brave as the woman who got her harasser fired for calling her a “slut” on Facebook, why do I feel like I have to be brave to post online, period?

by Caity

With such a clickbait of a title, you know this post is going to delve into the details of me getting a traffic ticket in New York City. But what you maybe aren’t expecting to find is a reflective piece on the purpose and intent of government. What I was surprised to discover after this event was how one unenjoyable experience could cement some ideas or inclinations I had had for a while. In a time of political debates that seem to focus on the idea of “government policies can negatively affect me!”, I hope you read this piece and instead walk away with the idea of “hey, sometimes the government’s job is to help other people.” With that: here’s my story.

Over the winter break, my husband and I went back east to spend the holidays with our families. One of the things I miss most about living outside DC is being just a short four hours from New York City and all the newest Broadway musicals. This year, we decided to take Ryan’s younger sister on a one day trip to visit NYC to experience her first Broadway production (Phantom of the Opera, a classic show that is still amazing.) Looking at the costs of bus or train tickets vs driving and parking, we decided that for the three of us, it was worth it to drive so we could have a more flexible departure time. I had always sworn I would never drive in New York City because it is straight up terrifying, but after living and driving in Seattle for three years, I figured I could handle the three blocks required to get to our hotel. We’d leave the car there the whole time and do public transit for our 24 hours of bliss in the city that never sleeps.

As we approached the notorious Lincoln Tunnel, I was a mixture of excitement and anxiety. “We’re almost there! I’m going to get hit by a cab. We get to leave the car! I won’t be able to merge. Jess is going to see New York! I’m going to total my dad’s car in this tiny tunnel. We get to eat cheesecake! We’re going to spend two hours in traffic. Broadway! We’re going to die.” So when the tunnel was surprisingly clear, I was elated. I just had to make two right turns and we’d be at our hotel. Upon exiting the tunnel, I was met with horns blasting and yellow sedans that refused to accept the idea that perhaps five cars should not be side by side on a three lane road. I got to the traffic light, and was strongly encouraged by the guy behind me to turn on the yellow signal. Being a good driver, I decided to wait until it changed to red and a clear path was open. Though the man behind me stopped honking as soon as it was red, I could feel his impatience and turned as soon there was a safe amount of space in the oncoming traffic.

Immediately following my successful right turn on red after stop in this crazy city, I was ushered into the right lane by about ten police officers. There was a line of out of state cars that apparently had done the same thing. When I rolled down my window, the officer barked, “What happened?”

“...I turned on this street to get to my hotel that’s two blocks away?”

“This is New York! You can’t turn right on a red light.”

Astounded that my drivers ed teacher from 2006 never mentioned there was a place in the US where you could not turn right on a red light after stopping, I gave him my Washington state license and my father’s Virginia registration and waited in shock while he left. It took him over fifteen minutes to return and give me a $280 ticket. During this time, Ryan speculated as to whether this was just a scam to get clueless out of staters to give up their driver's licenses. An elaborate identity theft operation done by a dozen men in convincing blue uniforms and badges. How on earth was this really a law? So I looked it up on my phone, and sure enough, there’s the “Steady Red” law in New York that prohibits turning right on a red light in all cities with more than 1 million residents. (A law that only applies to NYC.)

At first, I was enraged. There were no signs! Do they really expect people to know this? Why does this law even exist? And then I thought about how many people live in this city--drivers, bikers, walkers. It seems like a smart safety move, relying on green showing the all clear. But if this was really about safety, wouldn’t they put signs up before you enter the city? Or perhaps, pull over all the people who break the law at this intersection and give them a warning about it?

The fact that this was so clearly a trap, set up at the first intersection out of the tunnel--one with multiple lanes to turn right into--manned by several police officers so they can administer more tickets and not let any person who turns right get away with it, made it so much worse. But then I thought about what this probably represents. After watching John Oliver’s segment on Last Week Tonight about traffic tickets and some of the outrageous stories involved, I knew that many local governments need people to give tickets to function. Their budgets depend on a reliable source of money that comes from these fines. So in the moment, I calmed down, justifying my loss of $280 by remembering it’s going toward some other teacher’s paycheck.

After our trip (which was wonderful despite the constant rain), I had to recount this story to multiple groups of people. It made me wonder just how much of New York’s budget comes from tickets. So I went down the wormhole that is google research and discovered quite a few interesting things.

First off, I was not the only one to be disgruntled by a NYC ticket. It’s apparently one of the few things that the locals can agree upon. Overwhelmingly, the most common ticket is a parking ticket. But what you can be fined for in this city ranges from “unauthorized assembly” to “unauthorized possession of a garden tool or plant.” NYC was estimated to have raised $812.5 million in 2014 from tickets. That seems like a ridiculous amount. However, I then remember that over 8 million people live in this city, so I figure the budget has to be pretty hefty.

And that led me here-a breakdown of how the city spends its money. It turns out, only 10% of the city’s budget comes from sources other than taxes and federal funding (my ticket falls under this “other sources” category.) However, the city’s total budget in 2013 was 69 billion dollars.

I can’t even really wrap my head around that kind of money. It’s an insanely high number. But as I continued to read, I learned that that money gets spent pretty quickly. Almost as if the writers of this document realized the average person would have a hard time comprehending that large of a sum, they break down just how far 10 million dollars goes in each section of government. Below are a few examples.

Education: 159 new teachers (the city employs about 75,000 teachers)

Fire: 9 ladder trucks

Police: 80 police officers per year (the city employs about 22,500 personnel at the rank of police officer)

Jails: 2 days of incarcerating the average daily population of 12,789 inmates in city jails

Sanitation: 10 days of disposal of residential garbage

Street Resurfacing: 65 lane-miles of city streets (about 7 percent of total lane miles resurfaced each year)

And now I understand why they gave me a ticket for turning right on a red light. While some of these expenses can be argued on an ideological standpoints (why do they have so many people in jail each night? Why do police officers make so much more money than teachers?), at the end of the day, people need fire trucks, roads, and garbage disposal.

But what really shocked me--the entire reason I decided to write this blog post--was the last category on the list.

Tax Relief: $4.47 Personal Income Tax (PIT) savings per city taxpayer.

That’s right. Cutting 10 million dollars from the budget would only give each city taxpayer about 5 bucks back from their annual income tax. For a New York resident to save $4.47, the city would have to get rid of 159 teachers. Or not provide shelter for 272 homeless families for an entire year. Or not deliver 1.3 million meals to senior citizens.

On the flip side, increasing taxes by just five dollars would get them 12.4 billion gallons of wastewater treated. Or 11,328 job placements for small businesses. OR 159 NEW TEACHERS. (Do you see why this may be important to me.)

by Grace 

image via New York Times

It’s so easy to undercut, to smooth memory into stereotype and present it in a neat package, with good and evil predetermined. It’s easy to turn conflict into caricature, to wash your hands of it.

Those people , we think. Thank God we aren’t like them.

What little difference a thousand miles makes.

I was raised in the South. I have close relatives who have Confederate flag stickers on their license plates and bumpers, and would probably fly the flag on their lawns if they could. It’s difficult to explain things about the South to people who haven’t lived there. Sometimes, I ambush unsuspecting dinner guests without truly realizing how blasé I’ve become.

“Wow, [racist incident] really happened?”

“Yup,” I say. “It was pretty terrible. Thank God we moved. Can you pass the potatoes?”

My South is a very different South than many envision, or maybe it’s exactly how you imagine. I didn’t grow up on a plantation. I never went hunting. I don’t have a Southern accent. Both of my parents have college degrees. My mom never cooked grits - I didn’t even eat grits until I was in my twenties. But we did live in a rural area, in a completely white neighborhood. There were only two black kids in my grade. Things were tense, but no one ever expected anything to happen. That happened somewhere else, in actual cities, not here.

I caught glimpses of a different life as I grew older. When I went to college, a big school in another small rural town, I took five writing classes, three of which were taught by black professors. In one, we read a story in which a black man was pulled over by police and brutalized on the side of the road. A fellow classmate, an older black man himself, shook his head at our appalled faces. “Don’t think it can’t happen here,” he said. “Don’t think for an instant that this doesn’t happen. For years, there’s no way you would stop in your car in the dark, especially in the next county over.”

That county was my family’s. The same county in which I’d grown up searching for quartz crystals on farm roads after a good rain. The same county I’d chased fireflies in after dark. The same county where I laughed and told my friends nothing interesting happened, ever.

Skin is a unique organ - the only organ visible to the eye. It is simultaneously our first line of defense and immediate weakness. It protects, but it also exposes. It regenerates and reveals. Maybe it’s nature’s greatest catch, that the one thing everyone can see also hides our truest selves.

I may not have a wrinkle on my face, but put me under a UV scanner and I’ll light up like a Christmas tree.

Or put me in a classroom with a black man and ask us what we think about the history of the county next over.

I left the South a year after college. My husband and I moved to Minneapolis, Minnesota, and spent months in an extended sigh of relief. Our new church had female priests. I saw more races and cultures on my walk to work than I had ever seen in my life. We got an apartment in Minneapolis’ historically gay neighborhood and waved our rainbow flags at the annual gay pride parade. I happily reported to my friends back home that Minneapolis was my new favorite city, how Midwesterners seemed so friendly and accepting of everyone.

And it wasn’t just me who took notice. In October, Minneapolis was ranked “NO. 1 ABSOLUTE TOP CITY IN THE US TO LIVE IN.” In April, it was named “The Healthiest City in America” and the “ 2nd Best City for Recent Grads.” It was a place that people came to for refuge, to escape exorbitant rent hikes and unemployment. It was, as christened by The Atlantic, a “ miracle city.”

The shooting of Michael Brown took place right when we moved to Minneapolis, and throughout the fall, people hypothesized about the first snow fall and the trouble brewing in Missouri a few states down. Thank God that doesn’t happen here. Our people were happy, our people were content. The biggest complaint was about the homeless loitering in the skyways after the first frost. When the riots broke out in Baltimore, we joked that it was too cold to riot in Minnesota.

But then hundreds Black Lives Matter protesters shut down the interstate in support of Freddie Gray. Unrest began to show up in pockets – in traffic caused by protests, in demonstrations at the Mall of America, at the state fair and the Twin Cities marathon.

I remember a conversation with a coworker over coffee. She shook her head, staring at the Mall of America protesters on the television screen.

“I don’t know what these people are complaining about. I don’t know why they had to ruin everyone’s day.”

Skin, blinding.

After the terrorism in Charleston, the country turned its focus to the South. My coworkers were horrified that people were so protective of the Confederate flag. “Oh yes,” I told them, “so-and-so I grew up with has a bumper sticker on his car. He’d die before he gave it up.”

I told them about the racism, I told them stories about how people react when these things happen, always somewhere else. All of these things made me feel progressive. They made me feel liberated. They made me feel smarter. Someone spray painted “stop gentrification” on our sidewalk and I waved it aside. That’s not about us here in Minneapolis, I thought. Surely. I stared down at my relatives, at my own history in the South, from my ivory Midwest tower. I shared Minneapolis’ incredible unemployment rate with my old college friends back East, teasing the quality of life, open-mindedness, and average salary, without alluding to the ugly question:

“If Minneapolis is so great, why is it so bad for African Americans?”

And then a black man was shot in the street. Not somewhere else, not in one of those places like New York City, but here, in the Healthiest City in America.

Dig under the skin, under the surface, and our true colors appear.

About 62 percent of black students in Minneapolis attend high-poverty schools, compared with 10 percent of white students. Minnesota actually has one of the largest gaps in black-white student achievement in the country. The income gap is even higher. Even as far back as 2010, the MinnPost found that:

“Whites, for example, account for 86 percent of the MSP metro population, but only 68 percent of central city residents. Minneapolis and St. Paul households earn, on average, nearly $20,000 less per year than do metro residents as a whole. And they are 2.5 times more likely to live below the poverty line.”

After analyzing the black-white gap in census indicators such as household income, homeownership and educational attainment,WalletHub also arrived at similar findings, ranking Minnesota as the worst state for financial inequality. Low-income housing is scarce, with white suburbs resisting potential low-income housing developments and complaints alleging that Minneapolis and St. Paul are instead concentrating affordable housing in poor areas.

I’m by no means the first person to remark on this issue. In response to “The Miracle of Minneapolis,” The Atlantic issued a follow-up piece, “ Minneapolis’s White Lie,” as if we already didn’t know.

But that’s the thing – we didn’t want to.

When it comes to the South, it’s easy to perpetuate stereotypes with the people I know in Minneapolis because that gives us an easy villain. It takes the blame from our shoulders. It’s easier to believe that we are somehow different, that “this type of thing” doesn’t happen in our backyards. It’s definitely easier to believe that when your city is 64% white.

But often, racism comes in smaller, more insidious forms - including through blindness. It breeds through people unwilling to realize that these things aren’t just happening in another region of the country, somewhere else where the apparently less-educated or more racist live. Black lives aren’t just at risk in the South, they aren’t just at risk in “dangerous” places like New York and Detroit.

by Caity

Written in remembrance on 11/10/2015

High school is a time of self discovery. You discover you’re good with words and not so good at calculus. You discover talents and passions. You discover failure and rejection. As your brain learns how to understand abstract thought, your heart is learning what it really means to love. During this crazy time of hormones, growth, and identity forming, teenagers push away from parents–testing authority–and run toward their peers–testing the bonds of friendship.

My parents told me I wouldn’t remain close to my high school friends. Sure, they were there for me every day at school, but once I went to college, they would fade away. According to my dad, your college friends are the ones who stick with you for life. In my experience, this has been far from true. Though I have moved 3,000 miles away, I still see many of my high school friends twice a year. I interact with them on social media several times a week. But there are some who I don’t see as often. We give an occasional like to a status or picture. I could tell you where they live or the name of their dog, but not much beyond that. And yet, these friends are still there. Nothing is stopping me from dropping a text and catching up. Thanks to the internet, the distance and years apart have not severed my direct line to them. But there is one friend with whom I will never be able to reconnect.

Katie Elisabeth Hillyer Smith (KT) December 7, 1991- November 10, 2010. A simultaneously remarkable and ordinary young woman. She loved music, writing, and her friends. And just as her iTunes library expanded over countless genres, so did her connections to different social groups. Emo kids, theatre techies, honor students, athletes, skaters–whatever stereotype you could think to put a high school student in, KT was friends with at least one of them. She made everyone around her feel completely themselves. My memories with her are full of laughter and sprinkled with tears.

But as much as I like to think about all the wonderful moments with KT, there were also some terribly difficult ones as well. Discussions of depressions and low self worth–how she felt like she was letting everyone down. The pressures to be there for everyone, to participate in all the projects, to get good grades were just too overwhelming. How there was a feeling deep in her gut that permeated into every part of her being, saying, “You should not be alive.” My college freshmen nights were filled with board games, term papers, and phone calls with KT. I tried to encourage her. Tell her that so many people loved her. She wasn’t letting anyone down. Her teachers would understand if she needed extra time. Her parents understood she was struggling. Sometimes I felt like my words helped. Most of the time, it felt like they just hung there. Yet every time she called, no matter how awful she was feeling, she managed to turn it around to focus on me. “So anyway, how’s your life going, Caity Edwards?” She always addressed me by my full name, as if to single me out from all the other Katies in the world.

Suicide is something few people talk about openly. Even today, when feeling particularly down on the five year anniversary of her death, I was inclined to simply say “I lost a friend five years ago.” But we need to talk about it. Suicide is the second leading cause of death of people ages 10-24. More than one in every 10 high school students reported having attempted suicide; nearly 1 in 6 students between the ages of 12-17 have seriously considered it. More than 30% of LGBTQ youth report at least one suicide attempt within the last year. More than 50% of Transgender youth will have had at least one suicide attempt by their 20th birthday. Young women attempt suicide much more frequently than young men, though statistically speaking, young men die more frequently due to the methods each gender tends to use. The populations most at risk are people with anxiety or mental health issues, LGBTQ youth, and Native American youth.

Youth suicide is generally a result of depression going untreated. This is almost completely preventable. Four out of every five youth who attempt suicide present warning signs. If everyone just knew what to look for and how to help,things could change. Most youth tell at least one other person of their intentions. They give away cherished items. Few people attempt suicide out of nowhere–they generally plan it out. If you take away their desired means of committing suicide, they generally don’t find a new way right away.

KT was an exception. Many of us knew about her intentions. She had attempted suicide twice before, and she had gotten help. I’m not sure what else I or anyone close to her could have done to stop her, but that doesn’t stop us from wondering. I do know that as someone who interacts with teenagers for a living, I’m going to do my best to use my loss as a way to help stop others from doing the same thing.

As I think about how much I have changed in the last five years, it seems like I’m a completely different person. I’m married. I live in a city on the opposite side of the country. I earned a Masters Degree. I have a career. I have a cat. These are things my friends from high school can easily see from a quick look on facebook. I don’t know what KT would be like. Would she be writing? Working with music? Married? Living in DC? Own a dog? And that’s exactly my point. Every person deserves a chance to become who they really are. And, as a society, we should do what we can to see that happen.

Dear Lady Friends,

Before I get started, I want you to know this is a safe space. I’m gonna be honest and vulnerable. I am learning to be a good ally and I sharing what I know. I’m not perfect. I’m sharing lessons that I’ve learned and how I would hope to be treated as a fellow feminist. I hope through this, you too take a moment to do the same. Deal? Deal. Cool, let’s move forward. 

Thanks, 

Lauren

Intersectionality. While this idea isn’t new to the feminist movement, it is seeing a resurgence in the public sphere recently due to #BlackLivesMatter, #SayHerName, #GirlsLikeUs, and other movements that have become more visible over the past few years. So why does intersectionality matter? Topanga’s TV daughter understands it (the babies will lead us, y’all), yet on a day-to-day basis I witness micro- and, to be honest, macro- aggressions from women that rock feminist graphic tees while forming their mouths to ask “Well, what events happened before the video started caused the SRO to flip and drag a black female student across the room?” Think about that…

Intersectionality matters because currently ALL women aren’t created equal. Even as second class citizens, even though we are the majority of the U.S. population, there are subsets that are treated as third, fourth, fifth level citizens or not like women at all. If we are going to move the needle forward on issues that affect the entire women population – reproductive rights, rape culture, maternity and family leave, closing the wage gap, getting more women in STEM and/or leadership positions, police accountability,etc – we have to look at where the inequities are so that we can create policies that are fair and address all needs.

Before I go further, remember that feminism and being a feminist isn’t about being perfect. Some days you’re going to miss the mark or have an experience that shakes a feminist journey. That’s okay! Like any social movement, you have to learn from the steps to fully understand the power that you have and your place in this world. Okay, let’s resume.

To be a feminist that is practicing intersectional feminism and thus an ally to the cause, you have to ask yourself a couple of questions:

“What voices are missing?”

“Am I acknowledging my own privilege?”

“How can I be a better ally?”

What voices are missing?

The only way to know what’s missing is to listen. The thing about about being an ally is all about hearing, and acknowledging women and their experiences allows you to get a fuller understanding of varying issues that affect us all. Would we know Sandra Bland’s name if we weren’t paying attention to her death and #SayHerName? Would we know who Janet Mock is if we weren’t listening to #girlslikeus and trans women? The more we listen, the more we learn. When we find these stories, we find the truth of our movement, thus making it really about equality for all.

Am I acknowledging my own privilege?

I have my own story as a black, middle-class woman.  I know I’ve had access to things that allowed me a different experience from other black women. On top of my social class, I have priviledge as a light-skin black woman. I look fairly unassuming. I love musicals and was in AG classes. My blackness was more of a conflict between other black women (which is a story for a different day). As a feminist, I understand that is a part of my story and my experience. I acknowledge that my life is not the same as a transwoman, a lesbian, a white woman, a Hispanic woman or a disabled woman BUT I know that their stories and experiences are just as valuable and making sure they have access to services and rights are just as important. When in doubt, re-read question #1.

How can I be a better ally?

Be honest. Listen to others’ truth. Listen some more. Believe when things happen to your friends. Read books from black feminists.  Practice intersectionality every day, cause you know, practice makes perfect. Speak out when you can and be supportive when it’s not time to speak up. If you start to feel defensive, think about why and then go back to question #1 and listen.

If you need more resources, here are a couple of solid articles:

Why We Need To Talk About White Feminism

5 Ways White Feminists Can Address Our Own Racism

How To Practice Intersectional Feminism Every Day

At the end of the day it’s really about one thing – looking out for each other and making sure we are moving the needle forward for rights and equality for all.

by Anonymous

(image via Mashable)

Last week, Instagram and social media superstar Essena O’Neill revealed that she was leaving social media, saying it was “not real life.” Before moving her account to private, she edited her photo captions, revealing how staged and sponsored her photos were. She talked about how she based her self worth on her appearance and how many “likes” she could get on social media. She craved approval from her followers and from society. And while I’m not Insta-famous, something she said struck a cord with me and something I’ve been feeling for over a decade now. 

I sexted before sexting was even a widely-used word. The first known use of the word sexting was in 2004, and didn’t really get mainstream use until 2008. I sent sexual messages—and photos—since 2005 when I was only 14. I didn’t even have unlimited text messages, so I would take pictures on my flip phone and upload them to my computer and send them over AIM. Kids who sext these days have it SO EASY with their iPhones, let me tell you. Over 5 years of sexting, I probably engaged about 10 different guys. All within a few years of my age, all also minors when I was a minor. I only never met one of them, and I only dated one of them. 

I don’t know about teens and sexting these days, but I was decidedly at the beginning of that bell curve, and it went down before the news caught wind of the phenomenon so I was truly unaware of any legal implications and of online safety in general. I was a smart girl; I was in honors classes for most of my subjects, I had almost all A’s, but I was not popular. I had guys break up with me in middle school relationships because they were getting picked on for dating me. I was emotionally bullied throughout my time at my small middle school (about 100 kids per grade). My self-esteem was so low that I attempted suicide a couple of times, and then felt like a failure for not finishing the job. I wanted to hurt myself because I didn’t feel like I was enough. 

So I turned to the internet where I could be myself, and where people could interact with me without anyone else knowing. I found out that if I talked dirty and sent provocative photos, guys would compliment me. Those compliments felt good. The dick pics sent in return did not interest me. I wanted to be told that I was pretty, that I was hot, that I was wanted. I wanted to feel like I belonged. 

I knew that those compliments weren’t real. That these guys wouldn’t be seen with me in real life. That they were just looking for a fast way to get off and would say anything to achieve that goal. But man, those compliments felt good. I was addicted. Just like Essena was addicted to her likes and followers. I was diminishing my self worth for a few seconds of euphoria. 

I’ve been fortunate enough that none of the guys have posted revenge porn or anything like that. Lucky enough that these pictures have never been used against me. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t hurt me. 

by Caity

I have pretty mixed feelings about Halloween. On the one hand, I love any excuse to dress up. On the other hand, I don’t really like scary things. Growing up in a conservative household, my parents had a pretty strict “No evil thing costume” rule. No witches, demons, monsters, or ghosts for these kids. (Unless that witch happened to be Hermione Granger. My parents were totally chill about my obsession with Harry Potter.) And even though I’m an adult now and could technically break that rule, I still tend to follow it as a guide and wear safer costumes. (Past examples include Ms. Frizzle, A Ceiling Fan, and Belle from Beauty and the Beast—three different years.)

But now that I’m also teaching in a classroom full of English Language Learners, I’ve become a little more sensitive to some other kinds of not so safe costumes, specifically racist costumes. And I am very aware that throwing the racist word out there is probably going to lead some people rolling their eyes at me, or telling me I’m just too sensitive, or stopping the article all together. But that’s really the best word.

Now the reason racially insensitive costumes bother me requires you to think about the goals of Halloween costumes. As a child—it’s to dress up in something silly or cute to go around and get candy from strangers. It’s like, “Oh look how funny it is that that child is wearing something so different from what they wear normally. Aww.” As an adult, it’s to dress up in something silly/funny/cute/sexy and go to a party to enjoy other people’s silly/funny/cute/sexy costumes and consume a variety of…things (like candy!) with strangers. Surprisingly not that different.

So when a person dresses up in a “sexy Chinese school girl” outfit or in a cheap Geisha costume, it’s not to express their love and admiration for the Chinese or Japanese cultures, it’s just cultural appropriation. I’ve had Chinese students who wore those uniforms to school every day. It’s part of their life experience. Why did they move here and all of a sudden, those things are considered funny or ever weirder, casually sexual one day a year? My Native American students are part of community that is still thriving in this part of the country. That tacky Indian costume is mocking the legitimate and religious meanings present in pow wow dresses. If you don’t understand why this might be offensive, check out some of the Buzzfeed videos where Native Americans trying on Indian costumes or Japanese women try on Geisha costumes and maybe you’ll get it.

This is all part of a bigger movement I’ve seen where people of color are standing up and proclaiming “Our culture is not a costume.” This issue is finally getting a lot of attention and support. But what I find most surprising is that we still have people doing black/brown face in 2015. Like, how many times have people talked about this being offensive? Painting a white face black has its roots in 19th century minstrel shows that perpetuated hurtful stereotypes of black people. You can’t use the argument “I’m just trying to be realistic” to excuse a practice that is widely regarded as racist.

“So what, Caity? Are you saying I can’t be anything outside of my race? That seems like you’re being a little racist.” Absolutely not! One of my favorite things about dipping my head into the Cosplay world every once in a while is that these conversations have been happening for years. Of course you can be characters of different races—just don’t mock them and/or paint your face. I’ve seen a white woman with an amazing portrayal of Storm from X Men. I’ve also seen countless black, Asian, and Hispanic people with fantastic depictions of white characters. (This is sadly because there is still a lot of room for improvement on diverse casts in the comic book world, but we’re working on it. Chaka Cumberbatch got a lot of attention for her portrayal of blonde Sailor Venus, and her article reflecting on it is well worth the read.)

So if Glen is your favorite character from the Walking Dead, you can definitely dress up as him for Halloween. But instead of painting your face yellow or doing something with your eyes, just wear the baseball cap and blood splattered long sleeved undershirt, and maybe carry an ax.

Some people may have read through this post and thought, “She’s just another crazy liberal social justice warrior, hell bent on being overly politically correct and ruining good Halloween fun.” And to that I say, why does your fun need rely on something that is hurtful to other people? There are so many things you can be for Halloween that AREN’T offensive, is it really that much to ask that you choose one of those? Sure, you have the freedom to wear whatever you want, but certain “costumes” show the world you are an insensitive jerk. Is that the message you want to send this Halloween? If you want to think of yourself as a considerate, kind person who isn’t offensive to people who are different than you, skip the racist costumes.

Some final questions to make sure you’re being thoughtful to other cultures this Halloween:

1. Why am I wearing this costume? Is it funny? Because if so, why?

      a. If it’s funny because you’re wearing a table cloth and have a lamp shade on your head and you’re “One Night Stand,” that’s hilarious. If it’s funny because you are very different from the person/group of people you are portraying and that group of people is generally connected by race—maybe find a different costume.

2. Would someone who IS this thing find it offensive?

      a. Most soccer players won’t care if you dress up as a soccer player. But if you’re wearing a hijab as a costume, many Muslim people would be offended.

3. Am I painting my face a color that someone else has naturally for this costume?

      a. Just don’t do it. If you want to be all green for your Hulk costume, go for it. But natural skin tones should not be painted on for a costume. (This also applies to people who aren’t white lightening their faces. While it’s not rooted in racial history of black face, it shouldn’t be a societal expectation for you to be whiter for your costume to work well.)

On a lighter note, here are some examples of my wonderful costume skills over the years:

by Grace 

(image via Vanity Fair)

In another groundbreaking news story, Demi Lovato recently posed nude. Over the weekend, she unveiled a series of nude photographs in collaboration with Vanity Fair for her upcoming album, “Confident.” The photos went viral, sparking their own hashtag campaign on Twitter - #ProudOfYouDemi - and an outpouring of support for the singer, who’s been open about her struggles with eating disorders and mental illness.

Still, not everyone felt the same. 

“God,” one commenter wrote on the magazine’s Facebook announcement. “Nothing screams more desperate for attention.”

Demi’s nude photoshoot may be screaming all right, but it’s not for attention. It’s a war cry, loud and clear, about who’s in control here.

Let’s pause for a moment: if this story sounds at all familiar to you, you may be remembering a similar set of headlines from around this same time, last fall. Last September, several female celebrities fell victim to phone hacks and had their personal images flung across the web. Suddenly, millions of people could view grainy cellphone pictures of America’s favorite “cool girl.” Suddenly, we were all on a group text of intimate photos meant for only a specific set of eyes. 

If you saw the naked pictures of Jennifer Lawrence last summer or photos from other celebrity hacks, it was a sex crime. Those photos were never meant for you. They were taken within the parameters of one situation, in private. A sext doesn’t mean you’re automatically consenting to share your body with the world. Taking a picture of yourself naked doesn’t make you a “whore.” As Jennifer Lawrence said in her own defense, “Either your boyfriend is going to look at porn or he’s going to look at you.” I know a lot of women who would prefer the latter. 

If you saw hacked pictures of Jennifer Lawrence naked, you saw her naked outside of her control, against her will. She had no control over how the images would be used or how the media would paint her, insisting that she be embarrassed or ashamed, or even that she deserved what happened because she took the pictures in the first place. 

But Demi’s headline is different. This headline is offensive, not defensive. This headline is a proclamation, not an apology. 

In a world where private photos meant for just one person’s eyes are stolen to become internet fodder and paparazzi share photos taken up women’s skirts, Demi is now in control. She has the power. One could say she may have even done it strategically, knowing her invasion of privacy is likely inevitable, collateral damage of celebrity. You can call her a slut (wrong), you can say it’s a desperate cry for attention, but what if you knew - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe a year from now - that on a hacker’s whim, the entire world would see you naked against your will...wouldn’t you want to have a say? Wouldn’t you want to have power over your own body? 

Isn’t it terrible that female celebrities even have to consider this reality?

A woman’s body is expected to be so many contradicting things. If she’s deemed overweight, she’s told to lose it. If she’s deemed too thin, she’s told to eat a sandwich. For some reason, everyone feels inclined to offer a woman opinions on her most private self, what she should do with it, what she should put on it, and what it should look like when she takes it all off. Decisions that should be solely between a woman and her doctor are now public debate. Women are even told by strangers what they should be doing with their faces. When’s the last time you heard someone tell a man he should “smile more”?

If a woman doesn’t take her clothes off, she’s a prude. If she does, she’s a slut. Plus, if she does take off her clothes, not only does that seem to mean we’re all invited to see, but we’re all invited to have a say. There’s a 360 degree rotating gif of Kate Upton circulating around the internet (you can Google it yourself, if you’re cool with that in your search history). You can literally view another human being from every angle, and supply your own criticisms. The comment history is enough to make a woman break down. 

Jennifer Lawrence’s pictures made headlines, but the victims of these cyber sex crimes aren’t just celebrities. Revenge porn is on the rise, with UK numbers reporting affected victims from age 12 to 67. Educational campaigns like New Zealand’s #MyBodyMyTerms are raising awareness about revenge porn and emphasizing the basic human right vital to Demi’s nude shoot:

She consented.

Demi took off her clothes, on her own terms. She set the rules before anyone else could. She dictated the parameters. She refused to be airbrushed or edited, squashing any debate about the authenticity of her figure. Now, there will be no scramble for the real, unedited photos. 

I’m not mandating that the solution is for every woman to pose nude. I’m not saying that women who aren’t comfortable naked are wrong, or that Jennifer Lawrence should’ve gotten publicly naked to circumvent the hack. What works for one woman and her body doesn’t work for another, and vice versa. I’m not saying that Demi’s nude shoot was completely genuine. She does have an album to promote, and in this case, all social chatter may be good chatter.

I’m simply saying this: Demi has done something many women are unable to do, control the narrative about her body.

We shouldn’t shame her for it.

by Caity

(image via socialistalternative.org)

Growing up, one of my favorite movies was The Newsies. I loved watching young Christian Bale organize a bunch of rambunctious (and strangely musically inclined) boys, rally the support of the community, and challenge greedy old Robert Duvall. It was the ultimate story of young people standing up for themselves and what was right and winning. I thought ALL strikes must end victoriously and with a big musical number. When I was older, I became enamored with another film, Billy Elliott, and my perception of strikes was shattered. After months of no work—destroying beloved pianos for firewood and pawning off precious jewelry to survive—the coal miners in England return to work with nothing to show from it but weary faces. Participating in the Seattle Public Schools strike was nothing like either of these stories, and yet somehow similar to both.

For those of you who maybe haven’t been keeping up with the details of the strike, here is a quick summary. Negotiations for a new contract began in May. The Seattle Education Association (SEA) had representatives at the bargaining table demanding several ways to improve our district’s school system. These demands included: equal recess for all elementary schools in the district, less testing, better evaluation systems, hard case load caps for ESA (school psychologists, speech pathologists, and physical therapists), equity teams in all schools to address systematic injustices, and the most popular with the media, a pay increase. This last point got a lot attention. On the one hand, you have supporters of teachers talking about how educators in Seattle haven’t gotten a cost of living adjustment in years. They are being forced to move out of the city they teach in because they cannot afford to live there. This has led to us LOSING good teachers who then decided to work closer to new homes. We aren’t attracting new talent because the pay does not align with the cost of living. Meanwhile, supporters of the district point out that there is only so much money allocated to the public schools, so if we really want a better school system, funds should be allocated to other areas of need, instead of our income. I see merit in both arguments.

So right before school was to begin with no contract in sight, we had a General Assembly meeting to vote on whether or not we would go on strike. (Something SEA hadn’t done since the 1980s.) Walking into that meeting (spoiler, we all knew it was going to lead to a strike vote), I remember saying to multiple people, “I don’t really care about the pay part. I get why others do, but I’m a new teacher and haven’t gone through ten years of contracts with little raise. I care about the other issues.” And that was true. I knew going into the profession that I wouldn’t be making great money compared to other jobs that require the same amount of higher education. I am fortunate enough to be married to someone whose salary is more than I will ever hope to make as a teacher. But still, issues of equity were clearly worth fighting for. We voted to strike and instantly we were everything local media was talking about.

One thing I did not really consider about going on strike is how I would be spending my days on the picket line. It boiled down to two things: walking and talking. I walked 56 miles over the course of our one week strike. I talked with at least 40 different colleagues about the strike, local politics, units we’re teaching, clubs we’re sponsoring, but also Star Wars, Batman, Harry Potter, weddings, cats, and how many miles we had walked that day. I developed new friendships and solidified old ones. I was reminded once again that I work in the best school on the planet. My colleagues are intelligent, passionate, funny, kind, and all around amazing human beings. If I have kids one day, I hope their teachers are as awesome as the ones I work with now.

(image by Don Eaton)

Within the first 24 hours, I had people posting on my Facebook photos of me in the strike. First it was blogs, then smaller newspapers, then local news channels, then national newspapers, then national news! I felt like Race in Newsies - “Suddenly, I’m respectable, staring right atcha, lousy with stature.” People were noticing us! People were overwhelmingly supporting us. We got so much free food and water from families and community members. Hundreds of cars drove by and honked in support. Parents and students joined us on the picket line. Children barely big enough to hold signs were leading chants. We weren’t just fighting for our pay. We were fighting for our kids’ futures. And on a larger scale, we were fighting for kids across the nation. With the national media attention, we were starting conversations about broken education systems underfunded by regressive taxes. We were empowering other teacher unions to consider striking for these same issues. We were 5,000 educators with the support of millions of Americans.

And finally, after four days of striking, a tentative agreement was reached. We weren’t told the details, but instead instructed to continue picketing. The strike wasn’t over, but the end was in sight. Our union reps from each school would go to vote on whether or not to suspend the strike, and if so, we would vote on accepting the contract in the immediate future. The people at my school site were nervous and excited. “We’re finally going back!” “I can’t wait to get into my classroom and meet my students.” “I hope the union didn’t cave and let us down.” Though we walked a little less that day, it was by far the longest one spent on the line. In the evening, we get emailed a summary of the tentative agreement. The union reps had a majority vote to suspend the strike, so we would return to school and classes would begin Thursday. We won so many issues! Recess! Equity teams! Hard caseload caps! Evaluation untied to testing! Possibly less testing! Better contracts for subs! We were elated! And then we saw the pay increase. We went in asking for 21% raise over three years. The district originally offered somewhere around 6% over three years. The bargaining team agreed to a 9.5% increase over three years. We would also have additional time added to our school day starting in the third year. Upon closer look, equity teams were only promised to 1/3 of our schools, and the testing agreement was shaky at best.

Of course winning all the other battles meant we had to sacrifice somewhere else. Of course, as teachers we want the best for our students. Of course we’ll push better pay to the next contract negotiations. But that’s in three years. What about all the teachers who will need to move away during that time? And what about the other equity issues that will arise? Knowing the selfless, compassionate teachers in my life, I can only assume we will continue to make this compromise. And like I said at the beginning, this is what I was fighting for. I should have been ecstatic. But I found myself somewhat relating to the coal miners—we caved and it’s not going to change.

We could theoretically have gone back on strike. We had another meeting on Sunday, and we could have rejected the contract. But how on earth could you convince over 2,500 teachers who FINALLY got back in their rooms and met their kids to turn around and go back to the picket line? How could we convince parents and community members to support us again when this time, it would be almost exclusively about pay? How could we keep up the morale, knowing every day we would be out, some kids weren’t getting the attention, encouragement, even food that the public schools provide?

by Lauren

(image via Cosmo) 

“In my mind, I see a line. And over that line, I see green fields and lovely flowers and beautiful white women with their arms stretched out to me over that line. But I can’t seem to get there no how. I can’t seem to get over that line.” ~ Harriet Tubman

Before we get into the meat of this, let me get my fan-girling out of the way: last night was EVERYTHING! From Uzo Aduba's tearful and touching speech to her family to the flawless women who slayed the fashion scene to Amy Schumer beating out all the comedy dudes to the Apple Music commercial with Kerry Washington jamming out with her lady friends Mary J. Blige and Taraji P. Henson. Openly gay writers/directors Lisa Cholodenko and Jane Anderson took home some award bling. Jane Lynch snagged another to add to her collection, as well. In short, women were killing it all over that awards show. Then there was Ms. Davis. Not only did she show incredible sisterhood thanking other working Black actresses for reaching over the line, she addressed the elephant in the room - diversity in Hollywood. While this is not the first award show where she called out Hollywood  for the inequality on the screens, this is by far the most wide-reaching audience.

On the heels of Matt Damon's amazing white male privilege moment schooling Effie Brown, a producer and a woman of color, on the role of diversity in Hollywood, Davis said what has been discussed in hair salons, amongst friends, and written about in think pieces, "The only thing that separates women of color from anyone else is opportunity. You cannot win an Emmy for roles that are simply not there." *slow clap*

Let’s say it again, “You cannot win an Emmy for roles that are simply not there.” Viola Davis was the first Black woman to win in the category of leading actress in a drama. The Emmys are 67 years old and she opened her acceptance speech with text that was from the 1800s, that still rings so true across that big stage and in that industry.

What happened next was amazing but also the reason I'm writing this. My Twitter feed went crazy, the video went viral, and the threads of comments started. Most were supportive, understanding, and congratulatory of Davis' decision to use her acceptance speech as a platform to move this issue forward, others were not. There was a widespread case of women, mostly white, not getting it. "She needs to get over it," or "there are several women of color in Hollywood," commentary popped up all over social media highlighting a common problem within the feminist movement - inclusion of women of color. Even with shows like How to Get Away With Murder, Scandal, Blackish, Empire, American Crime, and Jane the Virgin getting accolades and viewers, the  annual Hollywood Diversity report  shows that Black women currently account for just 2 percent of lead roles (versus white women's 48 percent) and 2 percent of supporting roles on TV. This shouldn't have been the first time this award went to a Black woman. 2015 shouldn't have been the hallmark year for women of color on TV. That illustrates right there that it's an issue that deserves a national conversation. With Black women making up 13% of the US population, having adequate representation is a key part to equality issues, self-esteem, and building community.  So how is this a fuller women’s issue? For a couple of reasons.

There is change and power in numbers. Women are powerful forces of nature and revolution. When we work together, we are able to get a lot accomplished. If we push for more women of color to be on the screen, then there is a push for more WOC directors, producers, and     executives. This is how we change the landscape and the conversations about women because there will be more real representations of the female experience.

It takes the ‘otherness’ out of being a woman of color in film or television. What I LOVE about the roles that Davis, Regina King, and Aduba won awards for is that they were varying characters. There wasn’t a mammy figure, a Venus hottentot, or the magical black best friend in the bunch. These were well rounded, developed characters. In Aduba’s speech she thanked her cast and the creator of Orange is the New Black for “letting me be me.” With each win, each role, it beats down stereotypical roles and that’s worth celebrating.

When you focus efforts to support other women, you are     supporting yourself. When there are more Shonda Rhimes, Ava Duvernays, Isa Rae’s, Viola Davis’, then there are more opportunities for other women to be creative and to break into this industry. This is true for other fields; where there is one, we can become many. It’s straight up shine theory - if you shine, you can get others to shine by sharing and creating opportunities to uplift others.  

by Allyson

I’m Allyson. I’m 25 years old and have been an ER nurse for a little over a year now. My job is challenging, has pros and cons just like any other, and can be downright heart-wrenching at times, but I love it. My job gives me the opportunity to help calm the frantic, educate the unaware, heal the sick, and provide comfort to people when they need it most.

The Miss America pageant was held recently and I’m sure many of you have heard about or watched a clip of Miss Colorado, Ashley Johnson, delivering her original monologue about being a nurse for the talent portion of the program. Furthermore, some of you might have heard about the comments made about Miss Colorado’s monologue on The View. If you haven’t, take a second to Google it. This is my summary of the events. Miss Colorado’s monologue told of an Alzheimer’s patient whom she developed a close bond with. This patient pointed out to her that while she encouraged him that he was not his disease, she had also stated that she was “just a nurse”. The patient then informed Ashley that she was not “just a nurse” because she had been his nurse, who had cared for him and changed his life.

Being a nurse, this monologue gave me chills and brought forth feelings of pride for my profession. Nursing can be a thankless job. The fact that Miss Colorado could elegantly and succinctly provide a glimpse into our profession on a national platform made me swell with happiness because nursing was getting some recognition I believe it deserves. Ashley Johnson’s talent portion was brought up for discussion on the television show The View. Needless to say, positive remarks were not made. Miss Colorado’s scrubs were referred to as a costume. Her original monologue was said to sound as if she were reading her email. And one co-host asked why Miss Colorado was wearing a doctor’s stethoscope around her neck. I can assure you that these comments are offensive to all nurses who put their own blood, sweat, and tears aside to deal with other people’s on a daily basis.

It is common knowledge that the majority of the nursing profession is composed of the female gender. And I believe that there has been a wave of feminism sweeping through and bettering this profession since its foundation. But I do not want this blog post to be only about nurses. I want this blog post to be about women. What bothers me most isn’t just that the ladies of The View don’t seem to understand my profession at all, but that this is yet another example of women cutting women down. We see it on television. We see it on social media. We see it plaguing halls and classrooms in schools everywhere. Ladies, this needs to stop. I want you to take a second and think about a few times in your life when another female said something negative towards you. What if each of those negative comments was an encouraging and empowering comment? What if, instead of seeing each other as competition, we saw each other as equals with the same ultimate goals? Don’t we all want to be happy? To love and feel loved? If women began helping each other instead of knocking each other down…it could be life-changing. World-changing.

The internet seems divided on whether Miss Colorado’s monologue was an actual talent or not. I think that argument is unimportant. What I think is important is that Miss Colorado be recognized and praised for presenting a talent so different from what is traditionally presented. In addition, I also feel that Miss Colorado should be given major kudos for being such a strong and positive role model for the nursing profession and women in general. These would have been wonderful talking points to be brought up on The View. Unfortunately, that’s not what was heard.

So what does this mean for the ladies of The View? I want to urge everyone to take the high road. Don’t criticize these women for what was said about Miss Colorado’s talent when clearly they are just uneducated about the work that nurses do. Perhaps this can be a learning experience for those women. I, personally, would love to watch an episode where they talk about their experiences after each of them have shadowed a nurse for a 12 hour shift or two. Women supporting other women in their perspective workforces - that is a show I would tune in to.

To all my nurses out there: you are appreciated. You are never “just a nurse”.

To all women out there: let’s be each other’s building blocks instead of stumbling stones.

by Grace 

So, here we are. 

Other than my recap of getting an IUD, I’ve been rather quiet about Planned Parenthood on social media. In my actual, real life, I’ve been quite busy. I contributed several quotes from my IUD story to a flipbook of short stories and quotes from Planned Parenthood patients, hopefully to inspire other women to share their stories as well. I recently filmed a thank-you spot for Planned Parenthood Minnesota’s upcoming donor banquet, sharing my appreciation for the incredible service I received at my local clinic, and I attended my first Planned Parenthood event last night, sponsored by Born After Roe. 

I haven’t told many people this until now. It was a private experience for me, interacting with an organization I’d been told my entire life was “evil” and “murdered babies.” An organization that yes, does offer abortions, and offers much-needed medical services for all women. I’m not going to write “but” there, after that comma. I’m going to keep it as “and.” Because yes, Planned Parenthood offers abortions. And yes, they also offer STD testing, birth control, gynecological exams, and free health counseling. I’m not going to say “but” they offer these other services, as if I’m trying to apologize for or excuse something. 

Women need access to all-inclusive health care. Women need to be able to make complete, informed choices about their bodies. Sometimes, that involves access to abortions. You may or may not agree with that statement, but that doesn’t mean other women should legally be forced to comply with your opinion.

Last night, the focus of the Planned Parenthood event was storytelling. Learning how to share your story with others succinctly and authentically. We gathered in groups to work through our personal stories, trying to figure out themes or connect the dots from our pasts. Some stories were about abortion, others were about birth control access or our first experience with Planned Parenthood. I scribbled down a few notes, struggling with how to begin. 

“Well,” I said finally, “my story revolves around a lot of judgement.”

I went to Planned Parenthood last fall because yes, I knew they would probably be my best shot at a good IUD experience, but also because I knew I wasn’t going to be judged there. I (quite judgmentally) figured that if they offered abortions, who were they to judge me on getting an IUD? They wouldn’t judge me for being confused about my desire for kids, wanting them sometimes, then easily imagining a life without them at others. They wouldn’t judge me for taking Plan B instead of trusting God with my uterus. 

So I made the appointment and went. Honestly, I was expecting them to throw condoms at me like candy or see pregnant women sobbing in the waiting room. But that wasn’t the case. They were kind. From the receptionist to the physician inserting my IUD, I was surrounded by women all supportive of one thing - my choice. They didn’t tell me I was being selfish. I told them my situation and they just listened, without judgement or input. I felt heard. I felt like I mattered. I felt seen.

I have been a Christian my entire life. I was raised in the church, taught how a Christian should act, behave, and love. (Love was usually tacked on at the end, a contract with hidden signatures and moral requirements and clauses). However, I’ve only seen that love – unashamed, non-judgmental support – twice in my life. Once was from a close mentor at my campus Bible group in college. The second was from the women at Planned Parenthood. 

I left Planned Parenthood in a haze, joyfully blown away. Then I opened Facebook and saw a post about “Christian” protesters throwing fake blood on Planned Parenthood workers. 

After that, church became hard. 

You’d think that in the age of social media, sharing would be easier. But I think it’s only become more difficult. Now, anyone can share their opinion, but they can also be stalked, trolled, or threatened. They can have their personal life made public against their will. We can create dual lives - the ones we breathe in, and the ones we Instagram about. 

I Instagrammed about feminism while sharing drinks with the team at Planned Parenthood off-screen. But the online and the offline never met until now. I was scared to combine them because I lead two very different lives myself: the digital life of a blogger, protected by a screen; and the physical life of a sister, daughter, and friend of those who strongly disagree with her. I was afraid of betraying both selves by being unable to mesh them together. Previous attempts to do so have already caused some strife. 

Now, I’m even more afraid of fearmongering comments and uneducated conversations about an organization that people have never interacted with firsthand. I’m more afraid that these comments are leading to legal repercussions. I’m more afraid that my choices will soon be gone than I’m afraid of sharing the truth and sparking confrontation. 

Welcome to the next round of our career series Q&A, “Awesome Women Doing Awesome Things.” Click here to read previous interviews.

So - who are you, and what do you do?

I'm Lauren Parker  and I don't know how to sit still. By day I'm a marketing manager for mass transit in Portland, OR. By night, or early morning, I'm a group fitness instructor.

Why do you love your job (or just really, really like it)?

I really love both sides of my life - marketing and fitness. What I like about marketing is the creative and analytical pieces that make up this work. The ability to tell a story that is captivating or interesting or fun is what draws me to  this profession. The mix of psychology that goes into market analysis and research plus the big data that you can pull at the end of the campaign, plays to both sides of my brain. I've been in this field for over eight years and have enjoyed watching the move from majority traditional media to learning more on social media. While I don't know if I'll always be in the public transit industry, I've learned a lot about how to create campaigns within the frame of the Public sector that will give me a nice balance to my initial start in the private world.

As for fitness, the same things play into why I love it. I like the psychology of motivation, the creativity of creating workout programs and fun play lists, combined with the data of seeing people reach their goals. While I've trained men, I really enjoy getting to know my women clients and getting them to believe they are stronger than they think and getting them in touch with their power.  

Have you always known what you wanted to do? What was your journey to your current career?

Not at all! If you asked 4-year-old Lauren what she wanted to be she would've said a dinosaur (paleontologist  wasn't  part of her vocabulary). All through elementary and middle school, entertainment law was the focus. Then in high school after learning about art therapies, music therapy came into the picture. After freshman year in college gave me the business in my psych courses ( to this day I hate sense and perception courses), I took an intro to public relations course which changed my career path. There was writing, creativity, and a little psychology that felt really natural. So I changed majors to communication and public relations. This gave me the chance to try advertising, campaign work, and interpersonal communication that led me to my first post-college job as a communication specialist. This position gave me the foundation and confidence to move into marketing since it all plays in the same sphere. I've been in the field ever since.

I fell into fitness instruction. I joined a cycling studio the summer of 2010 and three  years later I went after my certification. This studio opened my eyes to how to motivate people, create a community, and most importantly, a chance to give  back to the community that gave her so much - from a new lifestyle to a great group of friends.

Do you have any mentors/have you mentored anyone?

I've been incredibly blessed to have solid mentors in my life. They span genders, she's, backgrounds, and experiences, but together they have helped shape me as a professional, as a manager, as a civil servant, and as a woman. I've been able to take their wisdom and lessons, and turn them into my work philosophy. I owe my training style to my friend and trainer, Leigh Ann. Watching and learning from her made me want to be a better instructor and trainer.

What's been a defining moment in your work? (Graduating/passing exams, a project, a big risk, your first big break, etc.)

I hope I'm not finished defining my career, so I'll pick two moments that have been turning points for me. First would be Fall of 2008 when I was laid off from my first job. That afternoon could've been the moment when I gave up and lost all sense of direction for my life. In the age of social media and FOMO I could've wallowed but as some one who can't sit still, I went after all sorts of opportunities - freelancing, volunteering, and honing various skills to continue to build my resume. I worked on a political  campaign. Did event planning for a local dance festival. Every little thing was a learning experience that made me a better professional. This allowed me to be more entrepreneurial and find ways to push past the bad days to get to the better days. The second moment was this summer when I raised my hand and said yes to a new job in a new city. I didn't have everything perfectly planned out and I'm  sure I made mistakes along the way, but the sheer fact that I took the leap and moved  across the country, away from the safety net of my hometown and network, was huge. This is still fresh so I'm not sure what the outcome will be, but I do know whatever happens I will not regret walking by faith and seeing what my career had in store for me.

How do you stay motivated?

A lot of different things motivate me. The world around me pushes me to be better for my community. My friends remind me of who I am and that's enough to do great things. Other women doing amazing things pushes me to dig deeper in my spirit and aspire to more. For instance, one of my favorite podcasts, "Raise Your Hand,  Say Yes," is all about tapping into your creative well following your passion, and figuring it out as you go. It's not about having it all laid out but about being honest. It's hard not to be motivated after listening to a couple episodes!

Do you think your gender has had any impact on your career/workplace experiences?

As a black woman, I'm sure it has played some role on my career. I don't know if I'm lucky enough to not have it be overt, but if there has been any impact, the powers that be made me think it was just a part of the plan. As a woman, my gender impact had been internal. The impostor theory makes me wonder if I'm really as good in my role as I should be. It rears its head and I have to fight through it to make sure I don’t price myself wrong.

There's this ongoing discussion of women "having it all" - what are your thoughts on that?

You can have it, you can have some, but I don't think you can have it all. It's similar to finding "The One." As Dan Savage says, there isn't a one but you can find a .8 and round it up to a 1. It's all about managing expectations. You can have a lot of things that work well in your life that give you a sense of fulfillment and happiness, and that lot in life can be your all.

What advice would you give to a young woman looking for her first job?

Three things:

Skip the title, look for the responsibilities that will take you where you want to go.

You aren't as in charge of your trajectory as you might think you are, but you are in control of how hard you work. Show up and show out! 

Stretch outside what you thought you might be doing. Look at all the industries in your field, be willing to go for the gritty over the pretty. I never thought I'd be in transit, but it has opened more doors than I imagined.

What's something that you wish you knew when you were getting started in the workforce? 

Staying late doesn't always get you ahead or noticed. Put in your best work during the eight hours you are given.

What are the next steps for you? Anything big coming up?

The next big thing for me is to launch my podcast, “Black Girl Magic,” celebrating black women doing amazing things, highlighting issues that we face, and hopefully adding something to the larger conversations. Like I said I don't know how to sit still.

by Anonymous

(image via Flickr)

“He didn’t mean anything by it, he was just drunk.”

Those words echo in my head. Getting louder and louder each time I dwell on the events that happened last week during an impromptu happy hour after work. A few coworkers and I went to a local spot about a block away from our office. The conversation was light and the drinks were cold. I nursed my one drink here because I knew I would have to drive home to meet my friend for the birthday party we were going to later that night. As I was in the middle of telling an old college story to two of my coworkers, I felt this mass come up behind me. He draped his arm over my shoulders and leaned against the left of my body. His hand was hot against my exposed arm. “I want to hang with the hot chicks,” he exclaimed. I remember looking back and forth between my two coworkers. One gave me a look as if he was sorry I was stuck in an awkward situation. The other had to turn his back to hide the chuckle he let out as he saw the scene unfold. 

You see, it wasn’t just any man. It was my boss. The person who had just hired me a few months before, with the firm handshake and warm smile, and had taken me to lunch on my first day. An older man, balding, with a wife and kids at home. I was still adjusting to what had just transpired when all of a sudden he announced he was leaving, and before I knew it I felt his lips against my cheek. Warm, wet and completely undesired. I don’t really remember what happened after that, what I said or what I did. I remember replaying it over and over in my head. “Did that really happen. Did he just kiss me? Am I overreacting? He probably didn’t mean anything by it.” I tried to shake the feeling, tried to explain it away. Was I too friendly with him? Had I done something to make him think that was welcomed? Was it something I was wearing?

I spent the rest of the night going back to that moment. It was just a kiss on the cheek, a comment about being a “hot chick” — why was I getting so worked up over it? I felt like I was taking something so small and blowing it into a bigger problem than it was. My guy friends kept telling me it was nothing, that my boss was just drunk and I shouldn’t be so hard on him. But then someone finally put it into the words that made sense. She said, “He made you uncomfortable, you did nothing wrong. You have nothing to apologize for and he has everything. He crossed a line that is ever-so-clear between boss and employee. You did nothing wrong.” And she was right.

I think that I am a pretty strong female. Independent, opinionated, hardheaded, and have this thing for challenging people to push-up contests. I think that I am just as good as a man in about any situation. But in that moment, instead of placing the blame of the person who made me feel uncomfortable and uneasy, I blamed myself. And why is that? Because society teaches us that it is our fault when something like that happens, not the person doing the action. And it wasn’t until that Friday afternoon, that I understood what it was all about.

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