Photo Credit: Unsplash
Male power, whether violently or delicately imposed, is still bent on subordinating us. Too many women are humiliated every day and not just on a symbolic level. And, in the real world, too many are punished, even with death, for their insubordination. —Elena Ferrante
As a woman, I’ve been told to not kick up a fuss, not make a scene, not be so aggressive because it looks unseemly on you. I’ve been told to be collaborative, warm, kind, supportive, and a team player. I’ve been told to smile and play nice. Dial down the emotion–you care too much! I’ve been told that I won’t be successful with that attitude. I’ve been told to listen and smile when men pay you a compliment. I’ve been told that I’m pretty when I’m thin. You look so good–have you lost weight? I’ve been told, in a voice I’ve grown to hate, you really have opinions. I’ve been told to play the game, to not make waves. Don’t make such a big deal….Felicia. I’ve been told, you’re nearly 40 and you have considered getting a little work done? Not, a lot, mind you, but enough to look like you’re freshened up like a new bottle of milk in the fridge before its expiration date. I’ve been told I think a lot, I drink a lot, I’m a lot. I’ve been told, I like you because you’re pretty, but you sure do talk a lot. I’ve been told that I’m intimidating. I’ve been told to be quiet, shhh. I’ve been told you’re not this, you’re not that, in response to when I tell someone something about myself. I’ve been told that I’m angry when I tweet about rape, black men getting killed simply for the color of their skin, or that we live in a country filled with frightened, angry people who will do anything to hold onto their privilege. Why do you have to be so angry? What’s the point of getting angry because anger doesn’t change things. You tweeting doesn’t change things. You’re a feminazi, an SJW, or some other newfangled noun that seeks to put you in your rightful place.
Sometimes I think they’re right. Sometimes I wonder what’s the point in kicking up a fuss, but then I think of the alternative–doing nothing at all. Keeping mute and silent in all the ways many in this world, for one reason or another, want me to be.
Yesterday, I spent the day away from the internet and its opinions about women, and I felt happy. I deleted my Facebook profile because I couldn’t get it up for people anymore and I didn’t necessarily want to see them getting it up for me, and I missed being an active participant in my friend’s lives. Scrolling and collecting information about the goings-on of people I know felt false, it felt as if I was taking the easy way out in a friendship. That I didn’t necessarily have to put in the work to be present. And akin to this incisive post, the constant feed wasn’t doing much for my well-being. Ironically, people keep asking me if everything’s okay because I’m not on Facebook, and how do I explain that I got off the social network to get okay?
There they were, my glowing posts from Istanbul, Tokyo, and New York City, my tales of adventures in the West Bank and the Baltic Sea, the stories I’d written and magazines I’d edited, my clever commentary on current affairs, all rounded off by likes and comments from people I’d met (or not) at some point in my life — irrevocable proof that I’d once been successful, popular, joyful, happy even. —Kati Krause
I get most of my news and commentary from Twitter (I have a television and cable, but I mostly use my TV to stream movies since TV is exhausting), but I’ve started to notice that it’s making me enraged to a point beyond productivity. I became consumed with the James Deen rape allegations and a world seemingly filled with rape apologists and misogynists. That women have to be a certain kind of woman to be a victim. That a woman has to follow a specific kind of binary protocol in the event that she’s pillaged. A woman always has to be something acceptable while men are forever given free passes and pats on the head. A woman is forever at work to please, conform, and self-correct while a man kicks back in his incredulity. I read about my country, one built on the rape and pillage of others for white gain (because let’s be serious), humiliating itself with its hysteria and phobia against anyone not white and male, on a global magnitude. I watch white men consistently mass-murder children, women and innocent people…but let’s not rush to judgment and call them terrorists because they were misunderstood, lone wolves, and they were never held as a child. I watch people practice their fatalism and talk about judgments and afterlives while I fume because we’re in the here and now and money and power hold greater value than the lives of the innocents.
I read about my country, one built on the rape and pillage of others for white gain (because let’s be honest), humiliating itself with its hysteria and phobia against anyone not white and male, on a global magnitude. I watch white men consistently mass-murder children, women and innocent people…but let’s not rush to judgment and call them terrorists because they are misunderstood, lone wolves, and they were never held as children. I watch people practice their fatalism and talk about judgments and afterlives while I fume because we’re in the here and now and money and power hold greater value than the lives of the innocents.
In short, I want to be informed and participate in the world but the world is exhausting me to a point where I log on to the internet and wonder what kind of bullshit I’ll encounter on any particular day.
Not necessarily a healthy or balanced way to live–don’t think I haven’t recognized this.
On the flipside I see (and sometimes participate in) posturing. The refrain of this is my fabulous life! The thing from which I escaped on Facebook follows me on the blogs I read (where everyone tells me that I need to buy this and that because doing so will enable them to buy this and that), to what I experience on a daily basis (wouldn’t it be nice to Instagram that doughnut just to show everyone that I’m! So! Happy! because being blue is so passé and violently uncomfortable). I guess part of my anger comes from my obsession with consumption (and all its good and ills) and resentment that I sometimes play into it.
I’m trying to learn how to get information and opinions while practicing a degree of detachment toward it. Right now, I’m too sensitive and attached. I’m slowly learning to spend less time online and more time being present in the lives of people I know and love. Spending more time reading books that awaken me and films that make me laugh out loud. Spending more time eating donuts and trying to refrain from documenting it. Spending more time being in the world rather than scrolling through it. Spending more time realizing my anger won’t change the world. Spending less time thinking about what people wish for me to be. Work in progress. Work in progress.