Blog For Choice: Will I elect Pro-Choice Candidates in 2012?
Sunday January 22nd 2012, 10:00 am
Filed under: Commentary

This year’s Blog For Choice question is: What will you do to help elect pro-choice candidates in 2012?

It’s a good question. This is a good opportunity for me to flesh out my thoughts on all this.

My friends don’t really vote. Some don’t vote due to apathy or an aversion to politics, which I think is silly. But a lot of them don’t vote because there just isn’t a candidate that they want to vote for, in a nutshell. It’s a punk rebellion against a system that doesn’t speak for us, doesn’t represent us, doesn’t help us. Or a rightfully jaded and cynic realization that our votes just don’t count, and don’t change anything. Either way, lots of my friends voted for Nader for years, or didn’t vote at all.

We are told that we have to vote – voting is all we’ve got! Voting is democracy! It’s the way to have your voice heard! Haven’t you heard that enough? That the only real voice you’ve got is a blind ballot drop for a candidate willing to trade away your issues in a pinch? I grew up hearing that people who don’t vote don’t have the right to complain. I voted for Obama in 2008, and it was my first presidential election. And it felt SO GOOD. I partied on my quad at Syracuse the night he won, we even went to the inauguration for chrissakes. I was filled to the brim with pride and excitement and Hope. I don’t feel any of that anymore. I’m not totally off Obama these days like a lot of my friends, but I’ve grown more critical, more cynical about politics overall, and disappointed in the guy we thought would save us.

I recently went to a Planned Parenthood fundraiser at a woman’s house in Scarsdale, with my mom. NYS Senator Liz Krueger was there to speak, and she delivered a powerful, rousing and overtly pro-choice speech about how voting is imperative. About how voting is actual, and its effects are real. It’s a pretty privileged position to say “fuck this, this doesn’t work in my interest so forget it” because for some people, the most marginalized people, the decisions made by legislators are real. We can talk all day about how futile voting actually is, how unfair and unhelpful our system is, how politicians are in the pockets of the wrong people, how our taxpayer money doesn’t go where we want it to, how Obama hasn’t followed through on things that are important to us. And we’re right, sure. But if we don’t vote – we, the most radical liberals, the ones to the left of most self-proclaimed democrats – those other people win. And other people will suffer. IRL. And it sucks that it has to be a rock-and-a-hard-place things, a lesser-of-two-evils and democrats have to be there to stave off right-wing influence, but that’s the thing. Shrugs. But I’m not done there.

At the meetings of the as yet unnamed coalition formerly known at SlutWalkNYC, we are fed up with these options. It’s not good enough to concede and vote for Obama again just because we can’t (WE REALLY CAN’T, GUYS) let the alternative win. And I’m not sure if I’m voting for Obama in the presidential, but I only can say that because in New York it realistically ain’t no thang. We are tired of this idea that you go down to the City or DC for a big rally, presented by NARAL or PPFA, and it feels so GOOD to be there and to care about your issues and be surrounded by people who are ready to fight for that change – but the takeaway is “Thanks for coming! Now go home and vote for pro-choice candidates!” who in reality, aren’t fighting for our issues. Democrats and Republicans alike are happy to put family planning and reproductive health on the back burner, or to use it as leverage for “more important” issues.

We need to move away from a model that says that voting is all you’ve got, your most powerful tool against injustice. Because it’s just not true. Our most powerful tool is our voices – our real voices – and what we can do to change shit for real. SlutWalk was a glimpse into that for me – we were on the streets, screaming, giving a shit, demanding attention. And Occupy is the change I’m talking about – a movement where voting isn’t the be-all-end-all, and there is a world of other possibilities we can do incite change. And just like voting sometimes has real impacts for real people, you can see the change inspired by these grassroots movements too. I think it’s fucked up for people to say that if you don’t vote, you’ve given up your right to complain – We, as people, are more than a vote. We live here too. It’s a weird sentiment to say that if you don’t take advantage of this (hollow and symbolic) right, nobody elected has any right to care about you. These days I’m more supportive of my friends who don’t vote. I’m personally not ready to completely write off the idea of voting forever yet, but I’m ready for more. Fed up with the options given to us and ready to create more.

I’ve gotten away from the question. What will I do to elect pro-choice candidates in 2012? I lobby in Albany with my mom ever year, and it’s the most…nonradical (read: reg) democratic action I do all year. And it’s good to remind myself that these people are there and make important decisions. But I want to move away from beleving in our broken political system. I’m going to keep trying to make on-the-ground change, and raise awareness of the issues I care about. I’m going to keep signing petitions, reading articles and receiving emails to keep myself informed. I will keep tweeting and retweeting the truth about the candidates and how I feel about them. And I’ll probably vote, too.

Disclaimer: This post is muddled in terms of presidential vs local elections.

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The Western Wall: A Feminist reading
Wednesday January 04th 2012, 8:39 pm
Filed under: Commentary

(Here’s another post about my Birthright Israel trip)

One of the highlights for any Jew visiting Israel is the obligatory visit to the Western Wall (a.k.a The Kotel, or the Wailing Wall). This has been hailed as one of the holiest sites, for Jews and people of other faiths, in the world. In other words, it’s a Thing. My personal understanding of it was that it stands for the persecution of Jews over centuries, and also Jewish resilience and pride. I was ready to go to it and experience an overwhelming feeling of Jewish shared history and shared identity, but I was also unsure that I would feel anything at all.

What I wasn’t prepared for was a feeling of anger and isolation. I guess in the back of my mind, I knew that the Kotel was divided by gender. Jewish men, specifically Hasidim and the most religious Jewish men, have different obligations than Jewish women. Judaism (like most organized religions, maybe?) has a history of gender segregation. Many synagogues are still divided by gender, and some probably still don’t allow women. Clearly, I’m uninformed. And I grew up as a reform Jew whose rabbis often changed “he” to “god” when referring to Adonai. We say the Amidah with all the foremother’s names too, which my Israeli security guard friend would fascinating.

I need to say that I understand Judaism is more complicated than how I’m seeing it. And that my feelings about all this are incomplete and sometimes ill-informed. I know that I have no place to feel like Jewish women are “oppressed” and that there is a lot of privilege-play going on to even write this post. I know. I think I know. But my feelings upon arriving at the Kotel were feelings of sadness, and they were my own.

I’m making a life for myself that hinges on feminism. I am all about this. This critique of power, this critical feminist lens, this goal of making the world a more just place. It’s what I am about. And I’ve created a sort of insular life for myself, I know. My twitter feed isn’t the world. My friends, who are all or mostly self-identified feminists, are not the rest of the country. But I felt overwhelmed at the Kotel, with thousands of people who just seem to didn’t see the problem the way I did.

The wall is divided by gender, and not equally. Women get a fraction of the wall, probably 20% or so. Maybe a quarter. This wall is a symbol, for many people. But for me, it was a tangible, living reminder of inquality. It was more than symbol, it was actual. The division of the wall, a place where women get a fraction of what men get, in a world that mirrors that. And it was compounded by the idea that this was the holiest place; a place where I was supposed to feel it all. How can I feel it if I don’t get it? If it’s not for me?

My feelings of Jewish community were largely overshadowed by my feelings of frustration. My tears at the wall were not about my Jewish Homecoming and the Promised Land, they were overtly about sexism and division. My feelings of isolation weren’t just about feeling separated from the men (and the men in our group, who were my new friends), but also about feeling isolated from the world. How can this sight be the most holy sight, with this huge gaping problem that I see? How can I feel united by Jewish identity at a place where I felt I was the only one angered by what I felt is a glaring fatal flaw? How can everyone else be OK with this?

We went to the wall twice, and both times I was visibly upset. My new friends were slightly dismissive in trying to be helpful; they basically said I should enjoy it like everyone else. That’s a familiar feeling — that something is wrong with me for pointing these things out and being a “feminist killjoy.” Just dance! It’s Kabbalat Shabbat! One of my peers said she liked the division, and that it wasn’t about the male gaze when we were dancing with each other to welcome Shabbat. Later in the trip, I mentioned my uneasiness about the Kotel to our tour guide, and he said that I was letting something small overshadow something big. That my fervent passion for gender equality isn’t what it’s about. I was missing the point.

I took a voice record of my thoughts at the time, at the wall, before meeting back with the group. I talked about how I don’t feel religion the way these people do. I even said “Privilege isn’t the same thing as God.” I talked about how the wall felt dead to me, how everyone else was experiencing it and I wasn’t feeling the same things. I sound insecure, and I say that maybe these people have something I don’t have. Of course, I’m sure there are people that share my trepidations, but for some reason I’m someone who can’t put them away. I say that this wall is a “big thing.” But the one thing I keep saying it “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

 

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2011 Was A Year
Monday January 02nd 2012, 12:14 am
Filed under: Commentary


2011
This was a Year.
Album art is courtesy snacksnacksnacksnacksnack.com
Track list included, and it’s vaguely important.

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=EAQLTOZ5

This is my 4th year doing this. It’s always just been songs that were stuck in my head throughout the year. Either one lick or one lyric or the idea of the whole thing. Shrugs. Some of them aren’t that heavy or meaningful, some of them are.

(more…)

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