Who Needs Feminism?

I’ve always had a difficult relationship with feminism. My suspicion is that I am among the first generation of women who were raised to think we really didn’t need it.

I remember when I first became aware of feminism – I was 11 years old, and was becoming increasingly interested in the world around me. I was deciding who I was and what I cared about. Complicating matters, though, was the fact that my family were ‘church people.’ We didn’t get on board with many things that were culturally popular. I knew if I heard a sigh of disdain from my mother while watching some new-fangled something on TV, it was most certainly off-limits to us. The parameters of our world were small, and we were okay with that. We felt like a ‘protected class,’ somehow.

In the 80’s, when I was growing up, TV was everything. In retrospect, it really was the first, “Age of the Child.” It seemed that The Powers that Be wanted us to be aware of important social and cultural shifts as they happened. We knew when Diff’rent Strokes, Webster or Who’s the Boss advertised a, “Very Special Episode,” you’d better listen up. Some very serious issues were about to be dealt with – for our ears only. Drugs, child molestation, gang violence and life-threatening illnesses were all on tap, and we drank that stuff up like thirsty winos.

To that end, kid’s shows back in the day never missed a chance to address the ‘mainstreaming’ of feminism. We regularly saw episodes that depicted little girls our age coming head-to-head with boys who attempted to put them in their place by telling them what girls could and could not do. The girls would commence to stand up to those misguided little punks and set them straight – much to the delight of the studio audience. The messaging was hard to miss.

So, one day I decided to ask my mother what she thought of “Women’s Lib” – a now antiquated term that mercifully, was witnessing its last days even then. She immediately clapped back, “I don’t agree with that at all!” “Why not?” I asked. “Because it teaches women to try to compete with men, instead of adhering to the Biblical structure for the family. The Bible says that a woman should submit to her husband – not compete with him. That’s the reason so many marriages are so messed up these days. Women’s Lib has caused so much confusion that no one knows their place anymore.” And that was that.

Well, not really. Being the investigator/smarty-pants that I was (and for the record, still am), I had to get a second opinion. I asked a trusted family friend the same question to get her take on the issue. She said the same thing. And that actually was that. No more did I wonder which side of things I should situate myself on. Women’s Lib was against the Bible. It was against families. It was against God. This messaging was, of course, reinforced by countless preachers, schoolteachers and community leaders as well. Going forward, when I saw those ideas depicted on television or in real life, I bristled. I wanted the women to just back down. Just let it go. Stop poisoning our culture. This was an evil that needed to be stopped.

Well, needless to say, it only took a bit of living, fighting the Giants of injustice and bumping up against chauvinist, limiting attitudes for me to realize that I was fighting an internal battle against something that was there to help me. Strangely, I actually never got the impression from either of my parents that we as girls (there were 5 of us) were expected to shy back from life, or seek out a man to meet our needs. Our parents regularly talked to us about their expectation that we would go to college, and fend for ourselves in the world, just like our brothers (there were 2 of them).

As I began to peel away those layers and make my transition into adulthood, I felt empowered by my parents. They certainly never did or said anything that gave me the indication that my educational or career pursuits were out of line with what they had taught us. But predictably, the vestiges of that early programming made their way into my grown-up consciousness enough to give me pause every time I heard the dreaded word, FEMINISM.

Now, depending on the era in which you grew up, this word will conjure up very specific images. For my mother’s generation, it’s a braless Gloria Steinem – it’s Jane Fonda with the bullhorn, protesting the Vietnam war – it’s Angela Davis with her fist raised proudly in the air. For my generation, it’s Madonna writhing around on the MTV stage singing, “Like a Virgin.” It’s countless women in boxy shoulder pads in the workplace. It’s Wonder Woman. For my younger sister’s generation, it’s Beyoncé in her full windblown glory, standing defiantly in front of a 10-ft. high sign reading, “FEMINIST” on the VMA stage.

Somehow, whenever I encounter these images, I am hard-pressed to give them much credence. Sure, they’re fighting those Giants, just like I am. Without those who helped fight for me, I wouldn’t have many options in the world. “Sure,” I say. “I’m glad there was a women’s suffrage movement. I’m appreciative of “Rosie the Riveter” and Betty Friedan and Shirley Chisolm, and so many others.” But I’ve never been particularly supportive of the feminist movement. Those weren’t, “my people.”

For the first time in my life, I actually considered going to a rally this weekend. I thought it would be incredible to stand in solidarity with a group of women and declare our commitment to the value of women, the disenfranchised and minority groups throughout the country. But I stayed home. On the one hand, I grew up with lots of people chanting and screaming about things, and the PTSD of it all was a little overwhelming to think about. Besides that, I’m an avowed misanthrope, agoraphobe and probably have a host of other undiagnosed social aversions that gave justification to my staying on the couch this weekend. But if I’m honest, it was more than that. Was this rally really for me? Were these really the folks I wanted to stand in solidarity with? Do I consider myself one of them?

The 2-ton elephant in the room when it comes to the 50-ft. chasm between the church and feminism is abortion. This issue was so much a part of the discussion of feminism in the 60’s and 70’s when my parents’ generation was coming of age, that they rejected the feminist movement wholesale. When you bring up the subject of abortion to church folks, you encounter 1 of 2 things: 1. Wide-eyed, rage-filled condemnation, or 2. The freeze-out. They just shut down, and the conversation goes nowhere. Like right now. You think I’m about to open that can of worms?

But to my mind, the wholesale rejection of feminism by many sections of the Christian church is misguided. What I saw growing up was women of all faiths and all ages who essentially desired the same thing – to be fully valued and recognized for their humanity. To contribute positively to society – whatever that meant to them – to have choices in how they lived their lives. This is the human spirit expressing itself, and that doesn’t cease to exist within the walls of the church.

My mother was ultimately limited in her ability to express the feminist ideals that undoubtedly shaped her. She devoted her life to motherhood, but I knew that deep down, she was fighting Giants of her own. She had the desire for much more. Many of the limitations that defined her were imposed from within, and many from without. Where those lines were drawn, and by whom, I’ll probably never know. But that yearning within her to break free from societal constraints was unmistakable, and I found myself cheering her on.

The truth is, my mother, and the many women that shaped me were very much influenced by the feminist movement – they couldn’t help but be. They taught those ideals to us, if not explicitly, then by example, and we ran with them – so much so that we didn’t realize we were being guided by anything but our God-given right to be exactly who we were supposed to be. My mother wanted the world to be much more open to me than it was to her, and she would not have stood for anyone or anything attempting to stymie that.

So, it’s on her behalf that I proudly embrace the term, FEMINIST – the good, the bad and the ugly of it all. It’s been my silent ally all these years – walking alongside me as I fight those Giants in my own life – just waiting for me to turn around and give it another good look – this time, with grown-up eyes.