[These are the highlights of what happened to me down at OWS on November 17th]

When we marched down from Union Square to Foley Square, students filled with anger and righteous rage, a proverbial fire in our bellies, the revolution under our wings, I was a little bit worried. At first I was nervous that we were inconveniencing people (the 99%!) by stopping traffic and making noise. I was afraid that we would be getting in the wrong peoples’ way and that they would be scared of all the people so close to their cars. But a few blocks in I wasn’t worried at all.

Instead of looking annoyed or angry, the people in their cars were smiling and waving, and sticking their hands out of the windows for high fives. The bus drivers were honking and clapping. The cab drivers and truck drivers were dancing in their seats. People riding the buses held their own signs and threw peace signs. “Off the bus/ come march with us!” Everyone was happy to see us! It became more clear to me that this is everyone’s movement. Most of the people in cars seemed to wish they were with us marching and taking a stand. “Whose streets? Our streets!”

And it’s important to note that this was an extremely peaceful takedown and march. There was chanting, and we stopped traffic, sure. but we weren’t damaging property, we weren’t upending cars (Did anyone at Penn State get pepper sprayed? That is a good fucking question). In fact, at first I was thinking how worried I would be if I was in a car in the middle of this – anyone could smash into your car or scratch it or dent it at any moment! But there was nothing like that, nothing of the sort. I remember consciously thinking how cool that was – that we weren’t angry at the wrong people, and that all those people in their cars got it. They were there with us in the streets – they’re their streets too. I felt full.

The moment it changed was about a block and a half away from Foley. I asked someone where we were, because I was tweeting, and he said we were nearly at the park. Right after that, we ran into a bunch of cops. Some in riot gear, some in regular uniform, some community event police officers. A whole slew of cops waiting for us, to threaten us and wrangle us. Or something. As soon as I saw them, they were upon us, pushing people onto the sidewalks. Mind you, we had marched a mile in the streets already. And at this point, a block from Foley, the streets were already closed to traffic it seemed. Or at least, there were only cops in the street.

Jillian and I had been acting as pseudo-marshals, since we had some experience with SlutWalkNYC. We learned about keeping a march together and without gaps, so cops don’t try to stop you at an intersection and let traffic pass, or so cops don’t try to break you up and make you feel like a smaller group than you actually are, and hence less powerful and unified. We also learned about keeping a march in the streets, not the sidewalk. If anyone is in the streets (and we were all yelling “Whose streets? Our streets” so why not?), everyone must be in the streets. It’s unsafe for those in the streets unless everyone is doing it. There’s also no real law against it – while in fact there are laws about clogging the sidewalk. So we were urging everyone to get “off of the sidewalks/ into the streets!!”

Anyway, our first police altercation came as soon as we saw the cops. A bunch were trying to push everyone onto the sidewalk. I saw the people ahead of me get pushed to either side, but I also saw some people simply walk through without any problem. Jillian and I marched on, and a cop seized us from behind and pushed us to the side, “Get onto the sidewalk!” Jillian and I had also learned in marshal training that a cop touching you in any way can be construed as assault, and that cops are afraid of this (as they should be) so a good tactic is to announce that you are being assaulted, and to demand that the cop not touch you. If things are escalating, you can try to get his name or badge number, and get people to chant that, along with the statement that that cop is assaulting you. Cops don’t like that. But this cop didn’t seem to mind when we both said “Dont touch me! This is assault!” He was big, and was able to push us both together (like children!). He didn’t respond at all to our announcement, and instead yelled “Get on the fucking sidewalk!” and threw us onto the sidewalk. We didn’t fall down, but I felt like I could’ve easily lost my balance. There was also a subway entrance right on the sidewalk he pushed us to, so there wasn’t much room to walk. And after a few paces, we got back into the street and marched on, without any immediate problem.

We were both distressed and upset, and we hugged each other in the street. I was crying a little but I felt more ready than ever to be there, to get arrested if need be, and to fight for this. It became very legitimate and scary to me. I’m still sort of upset thinking about it. I felt like the whole march until then was happy, and extremely nonviolent. The only violence I saw came from cops. I felt like their rage was unfounded and almost random, since we had absolutely none (directed at them, at least) as we approached them. It’s got something to do with this tweet, I know.

About a half a block later, when I could see the entrance to Foley Square, there were more cops. I was still urging people to get into the street (by this point, the street was definitely closed to thru traffic) and chanting, when someone came up next to me and put a camera in my face. I was in the middle of a hearty “WHOSE STREETS? OUR STREETS!!” when I realized it was a police officer, with NYPD on his navy windbreaker. I turned to him and said “WHAT are you DOING” and he sort of smirked, and said something like “I’m filming you. You’ll be arrested in 30 minutes for inciting a riot!”

The ideal reaction might have been to put my hand over his camera, if I was thinking on my feet. And I might’ve asked something about what law he was referring to, or said that I didn’t understand what he meant, or that I didn’t think there was any law about that, or that I didn’t think I was breaking any law. Shrugs. My reaction was to quicken my pace into the park, and scream back “Arrest me? Go ahead! I fucking dare you!” He turned and said that he would, before he was out of sight and I was severely shaken and angry. I stood in the park with Jillian and we debriefed before foraging into the larger protest area. I felt immediately safe once I was in the park. It felt like fucking border patrol. I sent three tweets, took a few deep breaths, and felt ok.

The rest of the day you can read about anywhere else. I waited in Foley for a long time, heard some speeches, but couldn’t see much around me because there were so many people and I’m so short. When it was time to march we moved several feet in the course of an hour, into a police-lined and barricaded area toward the Brooklyn bridge, where we had to stay for a while. We got word that the bridge was already full, and that 32,000 people were reported to be with us. That number surprised all of us – the police presence and strategies make it feel like it’s just you, in that group. I didn’t have any more contact or scuffles with the police – in such a big group, I felt much safer. And more importantly, from Foley Square on, the protest was police-controlled. They were dictating how fast we moved and where we could go. It was organized well and still very energizing, but far less freeing and exciting. By the time we got to the bridge, everyone’s energy level was much lower, and we were just glad to have made it there.

I get this a lot. When I talk about something wild and crazy – like not shaving, or thinking it should be ok for women to date shorter men, or fat-acceptance and fatphobia, or not plucking my eyebrows. People say “well, it’s easy for you…” because! Because you’ve got it all, Sammy. Your body hair is so blonde, I could never get away with that. You’re so short, you’ll never have to date a guy shorter than you! You’re not fat! If you were fat you’d feel differently. Sammy, even your eyebrows look great!

I think about this a lot. Do people just want to dismiss these beliefs I hold? – does this only happen to me? Maybe it’s a way to make me feel better – I’m not as radical as I think, or something? Is it because people just want to make excuses for themselves? “My hair is SO gross, you can barely see yours!” I think I felt like it’s a way for people to delegitimize where I’m coming from. Since I’ve never struggled with being overweight, I must not have any body issues, right? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel, what people are thinking when this happens. The other day I viewed it differently – is this a form of privilege? Conventional beauty norms or something? I think if I view it like that, it only feeds into the standards we all grew up with – there’s one way to be, and well, sammy you’re so lucky! It’s easy to have these pseudo-radical beliefs because you fit in so well to the system! You’re so short and cute! If you were really tall, you’d understand. I guess these conversations inadvertently legitimize those standards, in a way. Because being fat it so bad to be, and being thin is so good so surely I just don’ get it. If I believe what they’re saying – that I’ve got it easy for some reason – it means those standards are real – and yes, they are. The rhetoric falls apart when we get to “irl.” But I don’t want that to be. I guess that’s the whole point.

And hey. Maybe there’s more to this. I can be inconspicuous about lots of these beliefs – I know. I don’t stand out all that much. I am pretty gender-conforming, for the most part. I’m not putting myself in any danger when I decide not to shave, for example, because I conform to lots of other standards. Being white and straight and sometimes wearing skirts or something. I don’t stand out. If I wasn’t wearing a bra when all these discussions were going on, would it means something else? I mean – if a girl with tiny breasts doesn’t wear a bra – because she opposes them ideologically and so on – do people say “well, it’s easy for you, you’re tits are so perky! I didn’t even notice!” I’m sure. And well, er, nobody would say that to me if I stuck to my laurels and threw those garments in the garbage. I think I’m slowly owning up to the idea that people say those things to me and make those excuses for me because they’re sort of true. And maybe this goes many ways – making these decisions and having these beliefs might not have come first. Maybe I’m making them because they are sort of easy for me to make – because I know people will tell me they are.

Working with the Slutwalk and helping to organize SlutWalkNYC (www.SlutWalkNYC.com !!!) was something I did on a whim. I saw @ShelbyKnox tweet about the upcoming meeting, I live outside the city, I was unemployed and bored, and I found myself talking a lot about the Slutwalk. So I went, all alone. The only faces I recognized were Shelby’s and Lori’s – two faces I knew from the Internet, and neither of whom knew mine. I knew that the Slutwalk idea was something I was completely behind since hearing about it, (and especially since seeing @Jaclynf on YouTube at the Boston Slutwalk), but I don’t think I realized how amazingly mindblowngly excellent this would be.

Working with SASSE and Medusa, and being in Women’s Studies classes at Syracuse had the same effect – It was sort of shocking to be surrounded by people who thought like me. Or more to the point, I was always surprised and delighted when people were thinking more critically than I was; coming to different conclusions and coming from different backgrounds. In WGS 310 (aptly named “Feminist Inquiries”) I reread Female Chauvinist Pigs and read Look Both Ways for the first time, and I thought I “got it,” you know? But in class, my friends opened my mind and showed me what was wrong with the slut-shaming and lack of credible research in the former, and the transphobia, queerphobia, and problematic research in the latter. And like when Savanna helped make sense of the Vagina Monologues last spring with her baller careful criticism in our programazine. And when @SacchiPatel and I talked about the problem of locating sexual violence in male genitalia with our cheeky urinal flyers. Sometimes, I stop at “good intentions” and find it hard to be critical of things that are maybe a little bit good. I love these discussions, I love these ideas, I love hearing other opinions and having people change (or expand!) my mind. And the SlutWalkNYC organizers have taken this to another level.

There’s nothing like being a room with people who lives their lives thinking critically. Constantly. On every level, at every turn. Every topic we have has been stressful and complex and not easy and it’s because we are SO SMART and so thoughtful and so fucking radical. We looked at a map of NY and couldn’t decide a route right away because there were so many things we objected to and wanted to protest on the way. We couldn’t come to a mission statement easily because so many people had additions and ideas, and suggestions about how not to be alienating or transphobic. We are going back and forth on our logo because we are being super cautious – we don’t have all the same views as other slutwalkers. It’s really refreshing and really invigorating and really goddam exciting.

In other SlutWalk news, I designed this flyer and it’s really making the rounds. Share amongst your friends, and I’ll see you all on October 1st.

Download the file package here and distribute widely.

The other day, I saw a pro-life billboard while I was driving in Brooklyn. I’ve heard about the racist anti-choice ad that went up in Manhattan recently, and I’ve seen a couple of similar oudoor ads on my many drives to Syracuse the past four years – but never have I seen one, right there in my city. And it sort of struck a weird chord in me.

I get a feeling (maybe I’ve read it places too? Feel free to fight me on this) that the pro-life movement is winning – in terms of dollars and rhetoric. I’ve heard that their organizations have more members than the ones over here on the pro-choice side. And maybe I don’t notice any pro-choice ads because they don’t make me mad, but I don’t see enormous billboards for me and mine, even though it seems more Americans today are pro-choice.

I’ve heard it framed in a way like…pro-choicers are on the ground, fighting and acting in a different way, because it just makes sense to us. We don’t feel the need to try to convert people with incensed rhetoric or bombing clinics (I know, that’s not the majority of pro-lifers, I know). We’re just going about our business, because we…know we’re right? For lack of a better whatever? When I volunteered at the NY State Fair with PPRSR, handing out condoms, so many people came to our table and were huge supporters – HUGE. Not activists, not radicals – just normal CNY folk. Regs. I feel like being pro-choice just makes sense to pro-choicers. I feel like we know we’re on the right side of history (just like everyone in the world ever), and we aren’t quite sure what all the fuss is about. Or something.

Or maybe it’s like, their words are more reactionary, they’ve got the upper hand when it comes to these type of things. Just in terms of “pro-life/pro-death” and the simplicity in the idea of fetuses being people. Theirs is the type of rhetoric that makes sense to children. The pro-choice side is sort of more complicated. Explaining the reality of abortion to children (and adults!) seems harder. Incest! Rape! Yeah, those are heavy. And so are the other parts, like access to healthcare and insurance, and sick days, and immigration, and domestic violence, and birth control, and systemic and class issues that contribute. I can send people over to Kansas Stories (The original site is no longer up? Gosh, that sure supports my argument) to get a picture of what being pro-choice is all about, or talk their ears off all day, but in the end, that billboard in Brooklyn is still there.

The thing is, I was the only person who graduated from Syracuse University this year with a dual degree in both Advertising and Women’s Studies. If anyone should be figuring all of this out, it should probably be me. That’s what I keep thinking. This is my fight.

I don’t know how to end this post! I don’t want to say what I’m really thinking, which is that I don’t know what to do or where to start; I know there are people who agree with me and are on the same page, and we’ve gotta find each other and DO SHIT! But instead of saying all that, I think I’ll just go do it.

(note! I’m really conscious of the “us vs. them” tone of this post, but I’m comfortable with it. I have a whole lot more to say about what being “pro-choice” means to me, but that’s not what this post was about. And I also mostly used the terms “pro-choice” and “pro-life” because I don’t believe it’s helpful to throw around hate speech and change what other people want to be called, or something. That’s also a topic for another post.)

Starting to think about applying for jobs. It makes me have so many feelings! I wish that when I searched “feminist” on monster.com, all the jobs appeared.

Here’s my real resume:
I’m great! I just won an award here for excellence in presidency of an organization.
My GPA is stellar, it’s close a 3.8
I have a dual major in conflicting things – Ad and Women’s Studies. I know how to be a critical thinker.
I’m a campus organizer and I’m really good at being a leader on this campus. I started a magazine!
I want to save the world
I am a multitasker, I do entirely too much but I never let anything slip. I am so good at checking email.

Hire me!

Just in case you want my real resume, it’s pretty baller, and it’s here.

Been thinking about a lot of things recently, thanks to Take Back the Night and the Day of Silence and my trip to Seneca Falls. But I’m here to talk about my new Diva cup.

I spoke to my cousin today about all the awesomeness. She was a little skeptical and asked some really good questions. We talked about money-saving and how they create no waste. We talked about how it’s cool to get to know your body, and how it makes me feel closer to myself. I stopped myself from saying “in a weird, gross way” after that statement. We talked about how menstrual cups are safer than tampons and you don’t have to worry about TSS. We talked about the “My Angry Vagina” monologue.

I got my Diva Cup in the mail about a week ago, and started using it right away. It was scary, but not as messy as I thought it’d be the first few times. But overall, it was the opposite of a stresser. Getting used to it didn’t even feel like getting used to something new – it just felt like breaking the habit of something stressful – tampons and pads. Not having to carry them around and remember them, not worrying about leaking and TSS, not worrying about finding a garbage in a public restroom (HONESTLY THO) – Diva Cup fixed everything. Stressers I didn’t even know I had. I love getting rid of things like that (see: everything I’ve ever written about body hair).

Then I got home and read this, and I realized another reason why menstrual cups are the best. There’s a whole industry out there designed to make women feel yucky about their pussies. And I think we can all agree – it works. Men get to see their penises all the time; women can go weeks without seeing their vaginas. And lots of women certainly go weeks without touching their vaginas, getting to know them. Having a menstrual cup has sort of forced me to get all up in there – a place I’m supposed to believe is yucky. Tampons let you avoid that – you’ve got a string! And they’re absorbent; rarely is there a mess, and rarely do you have to really get down with the stuff that your body produces. Ya know, since it’s supposed to be so gross. Why hasn’t this struck me as strange before (I mean, I can point to one industry in particular, and it happens to be the one I’m majoring in)? I know my body is beautiful, but I fight with myself constantly to remind myself of that (like I can say confidently that all women do). Having a menstrual cup has allowed me to see what my body produces, up close and personal, and deal with it. And love it and admire all the amazing things my body does. And I can always use more of that.

Better late than never

I think in 4 years of doing this, this one has the most pop. Shrugs. There ya go.

(more…)

Inspired by this post (h/t to feministing) showing a slew of logos from women’s orgs, here is a redesign I did 2 years ago. I just went to this year’s Day of Action, and PPFA still uses the same logo. Here she is:

I redesigned it for graphics class for a few reasons: Aside from the uninspired font for a mesage SO inspired, and the overuse of pink in all of PP’s work – I hate how thin she is. I hate how she has to be wearing heels in order to make a change (even though yes, I wore heels when I lobbied both years). And I don’t really like how she looks like a Bratz doll, with a huge head and weirdly big hands. And so she has a voice and a (lipsticked) mouth, but no eyes? No nose? It’s strange. The only positive thing about her is that she’s not super-white. And I dig her hairdo.

Here’s what I came up with back then:

Click on it for a bigger look (and the color shows up better, too, for some reason).

I don’t mean to crap on anything about Planned Parenthood – an organization I wholeheartedly support and love and respect. But yeah, feminism needs better design.

I’ve been trying to piece together my feelings on body hair for a while. Obviously, I think it’s great. I shouldn’t have to spend money or time just to be “feminine” if indeed female is what I am. If I’m a woman, why shouldn’t my womanly, hairy legs and underarms be considered “womanly?” (I’m only realizing now how complicated and cis-central these ideas are. I will think about this more.)

I tried to write a piece for Medusa about my body hair. At first, I came off as really self-conscious. The piece was defiant, but it was upfront about being uncomfortable with my body the way I have chosen to keep it. I wrote that I shouldn’t be made to feel like that, but I was clear that I indeed felt insecure. When I revised it, I turned completely around. I made it snarky and in-your-face about how fucked up it is that women DO shave their legs. I questioned how feminists are trying to distance themselves from the image of the “hairy-legged, bra-burning man-hater.” Those words have become such a mantra for contemporary feminists to dispel! We took badass photos for the spread in the magazine, and I bared my legs and underarms all around my campus on a sunny day. It was liberating, but mostly, it was terrifying.

How could this be? I had just written this whole piece about how I shouldn’t feel insecure about body hair, but I still couldn’t fully put it into practice. So I tried harder. I thought harder about the words I had written and how I could better internalize them.

When we were editing the Medusa spreads, a girl saw my photo, and immediately exclaimed “eeewww!!” A girl on the Medusa staff, mind you. I told her to read my piece before I got really angry, and she did – and she said she understood it. And she apologized for being grossed out, even if she would still never consider abstaining from shaving.

In the end, I made one of those hairy pics my Facebook profile pic today. And my heart was racing the whole time. I keep comparing this feeling to coming out of the closet (this might be the closest I’ll come to that feeling, even though I know its really an unfair comparison). I feel liberated and strong and independent – I feel like I’m truly standing up for what I know is right, without fear, without shame.

But I’m also scared. I’m scared that being this eccentric will turn people away – gross people out. I’m afraid of the conversations people might have when they see that picture. I’m afraid people will think I’m dirty and smelly. I’m afraid that I’ll never have a boyfriend again because I know that being who I am is inherently undesirable to many men.

But then I remember! (Thanks to everyone who “liked” the default within the first few minutes), I remember that I’m not eccentric or weird. And I remember that not shaving shouldn’t be a radical act. I shouldn’t feel like I need to make hairypits my profile pic just to feel complete – These conventions are in place to keep women down and make us insecure. And I remember that I’m fighting those conventions by not shaving – and I need to continue fighting them by not being ashamed of not shaving.

And yeah – I remember that any man that doesn’t want me – everything about me – my hairy legs, my hairy pits, my feminist ideals, my outspoken personality – probably wouldn’t make a very good boyfriend. Or a very good human. And I remember that I don’t want those men either.

Sometimes feminists (and non-feminists!) tell me stop making a big deal – hair is just hair!, they say. I shouldn’t feel anything over this issue; I shouldn’t even think about these decisions if I’m making them. But that’s just not how it is. I’m feeling these things because of outside forces – societal norms and structures and institutions that have told us forever that girls aren’t hairy. When those go away, I won’t have shame about body hair, and I wont feel compelled to talk about this all the time. But they won’t go away until I talk about it.

Me featured @ The HairyPitsClub

Medusa Magazine

My Facebook

(all photos © Elina Berzins)

- Thinking about gender roles and how I just want more people to think about them.

- Shaving cream and razor ads – how I shouldn’t have to unleash my beauty with blades, how I wish my beauty could just be who I am. To everyone else.