Since my last post, I felt like I should send out this event coming up here in Lubbock, TX.
On Wednesday, January 19, at 6:00 p.m. at St. John's United Methodist Church, 1501 University Avenue, Lubbock, TX. Dr. Susanne Scholz, professor of Old Testament at Southern Methodist University Perkins School of Theology in Dallas, will address the question: How do you read and talk about rape in the Hebrew Bible when it is so common that statistically most church congregants have first or second hand knowledge of rape? To them these are terror texts that offer little support to contemporary people. This lecture invites you to become acquainted with a feminist sociology of biblical hermeneutics. Biblical narratives and poems will illustrate that the Old Testament can indeed be read as a "sacred witness" of rape and serve as an ethical and theological foundation for the Christian faith.
For ten years, Dr. Scholz taught in a liberal arts college setting and also taught at the Chinese University of Hong Kong in fall 2007. She received both her Ph.D and M.Phil from Union Theological Seminary in New York, as well as having received the M.Div (equivalent) from the University of Heidelberg in Germany.
Her scholarly interests are in Hebrew Bible, biblical studies, feminism/women/gender, culture, and religion, as well as interfaith dialog. She is a member of the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL), American Academy of Religion (AAR), European Society of Women in Theological Research (ESWTR), and the Catholic Biblical Association (CBA).
Among her publications are "Sacred Witness: Rape in the Hebrew Bible" (Fortress, 2010), "Introducing the Women's Hebrew Bible” (T&T Clark, 2007,) "Rape Plots: A Feminist Cultural Study of Genesis 34" (Lang, 2000), "Biblical Studies Alternatively: An Introductory Reader" (Prentice Hall, 2003), and "Zwischenräume: Deutsche feministische Theologinnen im Ausland" (LIT, 2000).
For more information, visit http://www.womenshebrewbible.com/teachings.html and http://www.smu.edu/Perkins/FacultyAcademics/DirectoryList/Scholz.aspx
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Stop using rape as political banter!
After watching and listening to the most recent round of #mooreandme tweets about Naomi Wolf’s radio interview on the BBC and her December 15, 2010 Huffington Post article as well as reading Andrea Grimes blog post, “Who Will Rape Me? it has triggered something inside me that I’ve kept to myself for a long time.
I cannot begin to understand first hand experience of rape and living to talk about it nor will I claim to know how I would “handle” my life if I were to “survive” being raped. But what I do know is that because of my friend Jane (not really her name) I am on the side of the victim, survivor, advocate, activist that listens, really listens, to women before passing deconstructive, academic speak to how any rape/sexual assault should or should not be discussed in the media. This is why I feel compelled to write this blog and tell Jane’s story as I remember it.
As I listened to the women calling into the radio show wanting so desperately to be heard and reading similar tweets with the same emotion, I kept hearing and seeing my friend Jane from 24 years ago. At times it wasn’t Jane’s voice so much so as it was her actions and my memory of them during the months that followed her rape. I also wondered how she would respond to hearing other women’s stories and would she agree that the “sex by surprise” criticism by Naomi Wolf was using rape as political banter? I’m not sure I’ll ever get the chance to ask my friend Jane.
I will say now that this story may trigger some people to be uncomfortable and would encourage you to stop now if you feel this story may hit too close to home.
Jane’s story:
I was a senior in high school when I first came to understand what it is to be an outside spectator to a young woman’s bruised and battered body at the hands of another. A body that was used and tossed aside, left for dead. It was also the first time I would become more educated with the words sexual assault and rape.
Jane was a classmate of mine that I knew since junior high. We had lost touch here and there throughout our high school days but for the most part we shared our lives when we could and as luck would have it we were in the same class that year it happened. The violent sexual assault happened, as we were seniors, full of hope of how our lives would be changing once we graduated in May. Little did we know how quickly our lives could change, hers much more extreme than mine, but none the less we were changed before we were ready.
Jane was on a dark stretch of road we all drove often, in between suburban neighborhoods, stranded needing help. As she began her walk to the nearest gas station or house she said yes to a person (an acquaintance that happened by) that offered her a ride home. Jane didn’t make it to the gas station or home. She regained consciousness in the dirt, alone, with little to no clothing, frantically remembering what had just happened. Some how she found the strength to walk, bleeding, broken and clinging to anything that would hide her naked body, to a house where she found protection.
It took awhile before I knew of these details as I just wrote them. Bits and pieces came from the few friends, in our inner circle, Jane told her story to over the next few months. Between us all we came to hear what Jane had gone through trying to fight for her life, using any part of her body as protection, on that road, in the dirt, discarded like trash.
I didn’t see her for many weeks while she was “recovering”. By the time I was able to speak to Jane, time had passed so much so that I didn’t want to bring it up unless she wanted to talk about it, which was not often. When she did return to class she had many cuts and bruises still visible, her hand was crushed and in traction, and she seemed to walk with her eyes tilted downward. I still remember how I almost broke down in tears when she walked in the room. Taking a deep breath and waiting for her eyes to meet mine, all I felt I could do was hug her. It was an awkward hug because I didn’t know how to maneuver around her bandaged arms, hands and wrists. Even though she had put on a good front, misery with a smile, I also thought I would break her if I hugged her as she seemed so fragile. I also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with all the stares she was getting already so I must have started talking about something else so to break the emotion up to think about something else and anyone else.
For the next few weeks I would see her gradually healing on the outside. The wounds where she had fought so hard against her attacker were closing and leaving scars. The massive contraption that was keeping her fingers stable would stay on her arm for many months. As time passed the contraption became a part of her and I didn’t see it as evidence to a crime but as a reminder to keep moving forward through her pain. As time went by, she gradually became the graceful, warm, and friendly Jane I had known. But still, that was on the outside. I would never come to know the Jane she was on the inside.
I lost touch with Jane as graduation came and went. Come to think of it, I never saw her again until our 20th year reunion. As soon as I saw her I found myself flashing back to that classroom and most of all the smile she had on her face when I saw her last, it was the same as the one she met me with 20 years later. I knew then and there that she would stay in my memory forever as someone that walked through fire and lived.
I never told her how I felt then or now. Of how I felt like a fraud and a failure for not being able to help her like I thought she might have needed. Even as I type now I feel the guilt coming back that I didn’t do enough to tell her how angry I was that she had this as part of her life. But I also know that it’s not about me, it’s definitely not about me. It’s about women finding their own way to walk through life after they have been touched by pain caused at the hand of someone else.
So, what do I take away from what has happened over the past few weeks in the twitterverse, television, and radio BBC with regard to people using the word rape, rape culture, “rape apologist”, “sex by surprise”, “cut-and-dry”, “survivor”, “victim”? The answer is, I use these triggered moments to remember my friend Jane and honor her by telling others that they are not alone. I believe there is a story in all of us, some split us apart and some bring us together. It’s time to bring the stories together so that we remember why we are telling them in the first place, to make change for all!
I cannot begin to understand first hand experience of rape and living to talk about it nor will I claim to know how I would “handle” my life if I were to “survive” being raped. But what I do know is that because of my friend Jane (not really her name) I am on the side of the victim, survivor, advocate, activist that listens, really listens, to women before passing deconstructive, academic speak to how any rape/sexual assault should or should not be discussed in the media. This is why I feel compelled to write this blog and tell Jane’s story as I remember it.
As I listened to the women calling into the radio show wanting so desperately to be heard and reading similar tweets with the same emotion, I kept hearing and seeing my friend Jane from 24 years ago. At times it wasn’t Jane’s voice so much so as it was her actions and my memory of them during the months that followed her rape. I also wondered how she would respond to hearing other women’s stories and would she agree that the “sex by surprise” criticism by Naomi Wolf was using rape as political banter? I’m not sure I’ll ever get the chance to ask my friend Jane.
I will say now that this story may trigger some people to be uncomfortable and would encourage you to stop now if you feel this story may hit too close to home.
Jane’s story:
I was a senior in high school when I first came to understand what it is to be an outside spectator to a young woman’s bruised and battered body at the hands of another. A body that was used and tossed aside, left for dead. It was also the first time I would become more educated with the words sexual assault and rape.
Jane was a classmate of mine that I knew since junior high. We had lost touch here and there throughout our high school days but for the most part we shared our lives when we could and as luck would have it we were in the same class that year it happened. The violent sexual assault happened, as we were seniors, full of hope of how our lives would be changing once we graduated in May. Little did we know how quickly our lives could change, hers much more extreme than mine, but none the less we were changed before we were ready.
Jane was on a dark stretch of road we all drove often, in between suburban neighborhoods, stranded needing help. As she began her walk to the nearest gas station or house she said yes to a person (an acquaintance that happened by) that offered her a ride home. Jane didn’t make it to the gas station or home. She regained consciousness in the dirt, alone, with little to no clothing, frantically remembering what had just happened. Some how she found the strength to walk, bleeding, broken and clinging to anything that would hide her naked body, to a house where she found protection.
It took awhile before I knew of these details as I just wrote them. Bits and pieces came from the few friends, in our inner circle, Jane told her story to over the next few months. Between us all we came to hear what Jane had gone through trying to fight for her life, using any part of her body as protection, on that road, in the dirt, discarded like trash.
I didn’t see her for many weeks while she was “recovering”. By the time I was able to speak to Jane, time had passed so much so that I didn’t want to bring it up unless she wanted to talk about it, which was not often. When she did return to class she had many cuts and bruises still visible, her hand was crushed and in traction, and she seemed to walk with her eyes tilted downward. I still remember how I almost broke down in tears when she walked in the room. Taking a deep breath and waiting for her eyes to meet mine, all I felt I could do was hug her. It was an awkward hug because I didn’t know how to maneuver around her bandaged arms, hands and wrists. Even though she had put on a good front, misery with a smile, I also thought I would break her if I hugged her as she seemed so fragile. I also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with all the stares she was getting already so I must have started talking about something else so to break the emotion up to think about something else and anyone else.
For the next few weeks I would see her gradually healing on the outside. The wounds where she had fought so hard against her attacker were closing and leaving scars. The massive contraption that was keeping her fingers stable would stay on her arm for many months. As time passed the contraption became a part of her and I didn’t see it as evidence to a crime but as a reminder to keep moving forward through her pain. As time went by, she gradually became the graceful, warm, and friendly Jane I had known. But still, that was on the outside. I would never come to know the Jane she was on the inside.
I lost touch with Jane as graduation came and went. Come to think of it, I never saw her again until our 20th year reunion. As soon as I saw her I found myself flashing back to that classroom and most of all the smile she had on her face when I saw her last, it was the same as the one she met me with 20 years later. I knew then and there that she would stay in my memory forever as someone that walked through fire and lived.
I never told her how I felt then or now. Of how I felt like a fraud and a failure for not being able to help her like I thought she might have needed. Even as I type now I feel the guilt coming back that I didn’t do enough to tell her how angry I was that she had this as part of her life. But I also know that it’s not about me, it’s definitely not about me. It’s about women finding their own way to walk through life after they have been touched by pain caused at the hand of someone else.
So, what do I take away from what has happened over the past few weeks in the twitterverse, television, and radio BBC with regard to people using the word rape, rape culture, “rape apologist”, “sex by surprise”, “cut-and-dry”, “survivor”, “victim”? The answer is, I use these triggered moments to remember my friend Jane and honor her by telling others that they are not alone. I believe there is a story in all of us, some split us apart and some bring us together. It’s time to bring the stories together so that we remember why we are telling them in the first place, to make change for all!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Recharging the Feminist Senses: When Optimism Meets Depression
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| Rosie, "At My Window" by Townes Van Zandt |
After a fantastic few days in Denver at the NWSA conference I find myself returning to my office with a bit of depressed optimism. Is that even possible to combine those two words together and make sense? Let’s see if I can make sense of this….
I’m always amazed at how quickly my optimistic feminist bubble and recharging experiences can quickly burst after returning from an environment that inspired, challenged, and encouraged me to think outside my creativity and myself. Thank you NWSA for reminding me why I am who I am and do what I do.
I could go on and on about how powerful the NWSA conference made me feel but this blog is about how I am coming to terms with my power in an environment and climate that limits women’s power.
I like to bottle up all that I witnessed at these types of conferences and release the contents and watch them seep into the minds and hearts of people in my community. If only it were that simple.
In the few short days that I have returned, not only do I find my words flowing uncontrollably out of my mouth to try and inspire others but I find there are some who appear, with crossed arms and over speak language, seeming to not want to hear what I have to say. Is this because they know something I don’t? Is it that they don’t want the refill of hope spilled into them to then be crushed by administrative strife? Either way, it hasn’t taken me long to settle back down into my everyday struggle of promoting, educating, and supporting gender on the lives of women and men within a climate that could care less about this topic until it brings in corporate money.
My small, meager, all-be-it important job position has once again met the ugly green monster of marginalization. Our program is undergoing another reorganization within a 12-month period. Moving this money loosing hot potato of a program out of one area into another division possibly dealing with similar criteria of sorts.
Where will this new move lead me? I am optimistic, to a point, but it may be at another’s direction. A direction that knocks me back rather than forward, swaying me back to where I’ve come from, challenging me to mobilize my voice more poetically towards progress without getting fired. Yes, there is fear in my tone because I have worked too hard and sacrificed too much to not be recognized, validated, and compensated for my dedication to promoting feminism in this place.
How do I move forward? I recognize those moments, like today, that are not merely coincidences but signs from someone or something. Here’s the story: My door was open and the lights were on. A graduate student not affiliated with the program stopped by unannounced looking for resources for his research on “women in politics” and saw that we had a lending library. He needed to know more about how he could access the library and if he needed to be in the program to do so. We talked about his research topic with a few more details and the more I spoke with him I realized how much he needed validation and support of where he was taking his research. So, even though our office is in a basement off the beaten path it made me realize that if there is a need a student will find their way.
How much of a coincidence is that? For me, the answer is clear; it was a sign. A sign that I will take with me to remind others and myself, that will listen, that feminism is alive and well in this conservative space and it is up to me to show it, embrace it, and promote it. So, with that, my optimism is back and my depression put on the back burner, at least, until tomorrow.
I’m always amazed at how quickly my optimistic feminist bubble and recharging experiences can quickly burst after returning from an environment that inspired, challenged, and encouraged me to think outside my creativity and myself. Thank you NWSA for reminding me why I am who I am and do what I do.
I could go on and on about how powerful the NWSA conference made me feel but this blog is about how I am coming to terms with my power in an environment and climate that limits women’s power.
I like to bottle up all that I witnessed at these types of conferences and release the contents and watch them seep into the minds and hearts of people in my community. If only it were that simple.
In the few short days that I have returned, not only do I find my words flowing uncontrollably out of my mouth to try and inspire others but I find there are some who appear, with crossed arms and over speak language, seeming to not want to hear what I have to say. Is this because they know something I don’t? Is it that they don’t want the refill of hope spilled into them to then be crushed by administrative strife? Either way, it hasn’t taken me long to settle back down into my everyday struggle of promoting, educating, and supporting gender on the lives of women and men within a climate that could care less about this topic until it brings in corporate money.
My small, meager, all-be-it important job position has once again met the ugly green monster of marginalization. Our program is undergoing another reorganization within a 12-month period. Moving this money loosing hot potato of a program out of one area into another division possibly dealing with similar criteria of sorts.
Where will this new move lead me? I am optimistic, to a point, but it may be at another’s direction. A direction that knocks me back rather than forward, swaying me back to where I’ve come from, challenging me to mobilize my voice more poetically towards progress without getting fired. Yes, there is fear in my tone because I have worked too hard and sacrificed too much to not be recognized, validated, and compensated for my dedication to promoting feminism in this place.
How do I move forward? I recognize those moments, like today, that are not merely coincidences but signs from someone or something. Here’s the story: My door was open and the lights were on. A graduate student not affiliated with the program stopped by unannounced looking for resources for his research on “women in politics” and saw that we had a lending library. He needed to know more about how he could access the library and if he needed to be in the program to do so. We talked about his research topic with a few more details and the more I spoke with him I realized how much he needed validation and support of where he was taking his research. So, even though our office is in a basement off the beaten path it made me realize that if there is a need a student will find their way.
How much of a coincidence is that? For me, the answer is clear; it was a sign. A sign that I will take with me to remind others and myself, that will listen, that feminism is alive and well in this conservative space and it is up to me to show it, embrace it, and promote it. So, with that, my optimism is back and my depression put on the back burner, at least, until tomorrow.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Why do I use the term “gay bullying” and not bullying alone?
“Almost 85 percent of LGBTQ teenagers are harassed in high school because of their sexual orientation, with 61 percent of gay youth reporting that they felt unsafe in school and 30 percent staying home to avoid bullying” - (2009 Gay Lesbian Straight Education Network survey).
I’ve been reading various responses to the recent four nationally recognized gay teens that completed suicide; Tyler Clementi, 18, Seth Walsh, 13, Billy Lucas, 15, and Asher Brown, 13, realizing that these are only four of many more gay or perceived to be gay bullied teens that find themselves facing a life that is not worth living and hopeless.
I’ve purposely used the word gay to identify these teens and the type of bullying they experienced. Reason is, I’ve noticed some responses to these tragedy’s as people thinking that because the gay teen is identified as gay and the bullying is homophobic and intolerant that those talking about these deaths are some how promoting the “gay agenda” or the using these deaths as a “political statement”.
My first reaction is what type of agenda does one perceive the "gay agenda" to be? Promoting tolerance agenda? A human right agenda? A civil rights agenda? All of which I would answer yes and admittedly say of course my response to these deaths is part of promoting tolerance and human rights.
Here is one example by “smittshow” taken from OUTwest Lubbock Youtube “It Gets Better Project” Channel; smittshow says; “…you shouldn’t have put such a strong emphasis on gay kids being bullied, a lot of kids get bullied for many other reasons.”
And another by Britton Peele columnist from the Texas Tech University, Daily Toreador, "Bullying serious problem, don’t mix politics into issue"; “…I feel as if too many people are taking the fact that these suicides were by members of the gay community and rushing to make a political statement out of it.”
Yes, the statistics are outrageous no matter what type/kind of bullying we are discussing. Yes, young and old, straight and gay, people have in some manner experienced and/or witnessed bullying or have been the bully themselves. The issue for me is, when bullying is covered and discussed in the media looking for answers from school leaders tasked with protecting and representing all students, the system breaks down and reveals that "sexual orientation" is excluded in written policies and procedures while all other descriptions such as race, color, religion, gender, national origin, and disability are included.
By not including “sexual orientation” as a descriptive, defining whom this type of discrimination touches, supports the social, political and ideological system that has been in place for generations and adds to the practice of dehumanization of GLBTQ people. Deep seeded anti-gay bias from unknown teens to politicians, from television/movies to the church pulpit, from state bans on adoption, to not serving openly in the military, as well as having to live with the fear of loosing your job if you “come out” at work. It seems obvious to me why I would be discussing “gay” bullying over all other types of bullying at this point and time; because gay bullying is validated, reinforced and in some communities celebrated to dehumanize someone because they identify as GLBTQ or are perceived to be “gay”. The message is clear to the GLBTQ community; “please don’t exist” and if you do exist we don’t want to know about it.
The problem is, or shall I say the problem for an intolerant person is, that GLBTQ people do exist and on some levels the mediums listed above have showcased some support for GLBTQ people by way of character plots and "reality" television, and/or showing in the news the potential "threat" of overturning laws set in the last 10-15 years.
The issue I take with television/movies/advertising is that images of GLBTQ identified person’s still follow the pattern of hetero-normative media representation, leaving out GLBTQ people based on race, class, gender identified, ability, age, etc. Some would say I should just be glad they don’t have us written into the script as murdering, drug dealer, pedophiles, that die at the end of the film at the hand of the “confused” character that suddenly finds, after a heated affair with someone of the same sex, that they are straight again!
Have we come that far? Far enough where one can separate media images of fantasy to that of images of real lived experiences? All those that I ask usually say yes that they can differentiate fact from fiction. But what is the issue? Why is the audience continually bombarded with this imagery if we still classify it as fiction? Does our fictitious fantasy need to be degrading and intolerant?
I choose to talk about “gay” bullying and say it with purpose to remind people that all bullying, while harmful in every way, is not discussed equally. Until school districts consciously include "sexual orientation", gay and/or perceived to be gay youth will not find relief. Until media consciously begins to light a real lived experience of representing gay or perceived to be gay individuals as no longer condemned by outside sources on a continuous basis, I will always make a point to single out the anti-gay, hate filled speech and torment as a most horrendous form of greed and power. For me, it is time to give the power back to survivors of bullying to stand up and fight because talking about bullying alone is not enough.
How can you help? Check out GLSEN Safe Space anti-bullying campaign. Learn how to get this packet/kit into your school: http://www.glsen.org/cgi-bin/iowa/all/antibullying/index.html
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
More than "A Wink and A Nod"
I found a post on my Facebook page today that moved me to tears and while very heartbreaking to listen to, I did find hope.
Ft. Worth, TX City Council member Joel Burns took his time for announcements to reflect on the current gay youth suicides and to tell his personal story. I was so moved that I put aside my “to do” list for today to write this blog.
Over the past six months I’ve taken part in a committee of volunteers planning and organizing events for GLBTQ Awareness Month. I didn’t realize six months ago that when we suggested to show Trevor: The Film and OUT in the Silence as part of our GLBTQ Film Festival that they would be so needed. Early on, I received some criticism from a few members of the queer community that said; “we shouldn’t have sad and depressing events” but instead we should be “celebrating our lives”. I partly agree with my peers but at the same time I know that not all of us are in the same “safe place” in our lives.
Over the past six months I’ve taken part in a committee of volunteers planning and organizing events for GLBTQ Awareness Month. I didn’t realize six months ago that when we suggested to show Trevor: The Film and OUT in the Silence as part of our GLBTQ Film Festival that they would be so needed. Early on, I received some criticism from a few members of the queer community that said; “we shouldn’t have sad and depressing events” but instead we should be “celebrating our lives”. I partly agree with my peers but at the same time I know that not all of us are in the same “safe place” in our lives.
As news breaks about another “gay” teen committing suicide, our community has slowly began to participate in our version of the “it gets better project”. Members of the planning committee felt so strongly that our community needed to “do something” that we started our own Youtube channel with local GLBTQ and Allies that felt they had something to say and needed to say it. I anticipate that we can bring awareness to the gay teen suicides that have happened in our own community while supporting others currently in crisis.
While taking part in the project (being behind the camera and hearing everyone’s story) and attending all of the awareness events so far, today’s video message from Joel Burns hit me pretty hard. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m feeling the “community organizer blues” or is it that I’m rethinking my own hidden identity to my family.
As I watched Joel speak about his personal story, I found myself thinking once again how powerful the media can be. Because I have friends that will post and send me messages such as this one, I’m hoping that my local news sources will pick up on the story and run it. But I know all too well when it is not “sensational” enough or doesn't connect celebrity to our town, it won’t run. This leads me to remember how, as a young budding lesbian in the 1980’s, I learned about what it was like to be someone that identified as gay or lesbian through watching the media.
I’m having flashbacks to my time in Junior High and High School during the 1980’s and remember that I was fully aware that if I were to “come out” I would not be welcomed. My news channels, locally and nationally, were reporting on the overwhelming numbers of people across the country contracting and dying of AIDS related illnesses. I witnessed the slow agonizing process of investigating and researching what this disease was while laced with a sense of urgency and panic for citizens in our own backyard.
I find it odd that I never met someone that was diagnosed with AIDS as the "gay disease" but instead was introduced to AIDS as sharing dirty needles and the "just say no to drugs campaign". Three years into my Mom and Stepfather's marriage, I was told that my step-cousin, that I had only known for a short time, died of AIDS. This was my first hand experience of seeing just how manipulative the media was and how much it played a part in how I defined AIDS. I also knew to keep the reason for her dying a secret. After this experience I knew that it would take a long time before the "gay disease" terminology and ideology would begin to subside.
Even though my firsthand experience with AIDS was more about how straight people contract the disease thru drug use, I knew what image I was supposed to uphold and being a lesbian was not the “right” way to live. I was confident of my feelings for other girls and I knew I needed to be true to myself but was faced with image after image and news feed after news feed that gays and lesbians will die of the “gay disease” spreading across the United States.
I’ve found myself reliving those disparaging memories, memories I’ve tried to block out of my mind, but somehow they keep coming back. Now the images are returning but they are in the form of young people, dying by way of their own hand. I find myself asking the same questions I heard back then when the President of the United States wouldn’t even say the word AIDS until Ryan White contracted the disease thru a blood transfusion; “How many more people have to die before something is done?”
There has to be a nation wide response to awaken the poor discrimination and harassment policies and procedures that parents and teens face while trying to make their schools responsible. Those that are in crisis deserve more than “a wink and a nod”.
--
To find out what your school district policy is with regard to "student welfare: freedom from bullying and/or freedom from discrimination, harassment, and retaliation" and what it covers:
1.) Look up you school districts web site
ex. LISD = http://lubbockisd.org
2.) On some web sites it is hard to find but know that you are looking for some terminology such as "policy online" to get you to viewing the policy. Using the example of LISD, place your cursor over the navigation bar with the words "District Info & News"
3.) Click on "LISD Policy Online"
4.) Type in the words student welfare and click search
5.) If you click on STUDENT WELFARE: FREEDOM FROM DISCRIMINATION, HARASSMENT, AND RETALIATION you will see how your district defines "discrimination"
6.) If you click on STUDENT WELFARE: FREEDOM FROM BULLYING you will see how your district defines "bullying"
There are only four ISD's in Texas that protect students from discrimination based on sexual orientation: Houston, Dallas, Fort Worth, & Austin.
These policies are revised as needed to reflect changes in federal or state law, Texas Education Guidelines, and local options.
Find your legislator to ask why some Texas schools include sexual orientation in their student welfare policy and others don't? Is this only a "local issue" that needs to be addressed? How does one local area differ from another if we are talking about students need a safe place to learn?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
God, Family, Lattes and Bikini's
It’s the same old sexism with a bold new flavor.
There is a new business in this sleepy little West Tx town, using the same old ways of commerce/capitalism, turning a buck at the expense of others. Ooo La Lattes owned by Joe and Bruce, two “God fearing” and “family loving” guys that just want to put their entrepreneurial skills “out on a limb”, have opened a new coffee house. This town (approx. pop. 200,000) now has, at my count; six independently owned coffee shops competing with Starbucks which has four locations, counting the campus and Barnes & Noble bookstore at the mall.
What’s the big deal? It’s just a coffee shop, right? What could possibly warrant a blog post spent talking about coffee? If you read S. Coleman with Talk Lubbock you'll know what the big deal is with "Hooter-like jugs hanging just right". Also, the facebook page of KLBK/KMAC news channel (scroll down to June 22nd) seemed to have some folks saying that there are those "jealous folks" that need to get hip with the times, as other big cities in Texas have already done and that progress is good, if we just open up another coffee shop with men dressing similarly, in place of women.
Hear what the all female staff thinks of their work environment and dress code, oh, and the coffee they sell.
How was this new business covered on the local news channel? Couldn't get the link to be embedded so you'll need to click on this to Lubbock Online to view the story: http://everythinglubbock.com/fulltext/?nxd_id=56395
Raising eyebrows! You don’t say! That’s an understatement. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy deconstructing some young women's argument that tell me “women have come so far, being independent from influences of main stream media” that “we” are in control of how we are exploited and it’s our choice to be in those type of situations, on and on I could go; BUT this story is not your typical run of the mill “call out sexism” type post. Instead this is a story of hypocrisy as the cherry (no pun intended) on top of the sexist cake.
In a conservative town that prides itself and it’s founding morals on being “the best place to raise a family”, I’m not sure Mom and Dad will take the kids to Ooo La Lattes on their way to church for a coffee or hot chocolate for the kids. Oh, that’s right they’re not open on Sunday’s. Just when all those good Christian folk need something for that hangover! Cue “Lubbock Or Leave It” by the Dixie Chicks.
Also, what’s the big deal? “It’s a nice little spin and you need a gimmick to make money today” and don’t forget “different strokes for different folks”.
It’s not new, right? “Hooters” has been doing it since 1983 and their Internationally known and have a Wikipedia page. If it's not new then what's the big deal?
The bid deal is this:
Using women’s bodies to sell a product is sexism. The hypocrisy is that the virtuous and morally principled owners have hit on something to sell their product at the profit of constructed women’s bodies as nothing more than commodities. A typical question that comes to mind with this discussion; does this mean I’m calling for equal treatment of men’s bodies as fragments to even the playing field? No, why would I want to call for men to experience the same issues of body image, self worth, stereotypes, etc.? No, no one gender, race, class, body, orientation, age group, etc should be constructed, fragmented, pieced apart in a manner that exploits their social, political and economic worth for profit.
I’ll admit I’ve only viewed the web site and seen the fan page on Facebook. Others have told me that they drove by with their teenage daughters in the car and immediately the daughters told their Mom; “Those women don’t have any clothes on!” You see; the drive thru window is much lower than traditional drive thru windows and seems to go as far down as midway down her thigh and the top of the window reaches as tall as just under the overhang. On this day, they must have been wearing their bikini "uniform". It did make for a great conversation on the drive home that day and the Mom was struck by how her daughters could distinguish sexism, "in the flesh" (pun intended).
I’m not sure I really need to drive by or even buy a cup of coffee to know sexism when I see it? Just like I don’t have to define sexism to those that have experienced it first hand. The hand, so to speak, comes on my television on the movie screen, even in my daily walk across campus as well as face-to-face acts.
Just in case; here is a reminder of the basic definition of sexism
-noun
attitudes or behavior based on traditional stereotypes of sexual roles
If the images don’t convince you maybe the way you order that special cup of “Joe” might make you think otherwise.
- Cup sizes are "B" cup, "C" cup, and "D" cup
- Don’t forget the catchy names of some of the specials: “Tripple X”, “The Push-UP”, “The Wild Thing”, “The Commando”; all organically made. All in all these names can be used in most any restaurant or bar but when you hear them coming from the barista at the drive thru window, flashing you a little more skin than you are used to at a coffee house, you seem to get the pun and point to why Ooo La Lattes is the type of business standing out above the rest.
So, what is the bottom line for me? What should I learn from this new coffee establishment’s “gimmick”? That *hypocrisy is alive and well in this sleepy little town, out in the environment where cotton, oil, football and sexism are KING!
*Note: Hypocrisy in this case equals the context of using women, dressed in clothing attire that would be declined in a schoolhouse but acceptable at a strip club, as a gimmick to attract customers to sell them coffee; therefore exploiting another person based on traditional stereotypes of sexual roles.
One last thought:
Why didn’t J&B Coffee, Day Break Coffee, Sugar Brown’s Coffee, Otto’s Granary and Grand Café do the same? Maybe they just didn’t have a sense of humor or a creative management team like Joe and Bruce
Resources on sexism by Media Education Foundation:
Women's Media Center:
"Sexism Sells But We're Not Buying It"
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