It made so much sense to me. It was that simple, that straightforward – If you are pro-choice, YOU ARE pro-Obama. Some of my friends were voting Nader, and I wouldn’t have it. Obama was our man – we believed in Obama! Hope! Change we can believe in! Soaring rhetoric! And at the time, he was the most liberal guy around, and I was feeling it. I thought that window decal was pretty radical, and if someone honked at me or gave me a dirty look on the road it sometimes occurred to me that they were anti-feminist pro-lifers or Republicans.

I voted (via absentee from college), I celebrated on the Syracuse quad when he won (a moment that I will never forget, and one of my most moving experiences of my life), and I even went to the inauguration (slightly more stressful).

These days, the connection isn’t that simple for me. I’m afraid I don’t believe in our government like I did at 18. Obama did a lot of awesome things, but he also didn’t. A lot has changed, and so much hasn’t. I’m not an expert, I can’t really quote statistics; I admit that. But four years later, I’m much more critical of the two-party system, and I’m reluctant to put all my eggs in one Democratic basket.

I’ve grown a lot more radical the past few months. A lot more anti-capitalist, a lot more anti-racist and sex-positive. And a lot more unapologetic about it. I’ve also become sort of connected to a socialist feminist presidential campaign. I live in New York and I have the opportunity (privilege?) to write-in a protest vote without really being worried about where my state is headed in November. And the Durham-López platform includes a lot of things I agree with, and very few that I don’t. I feel pretty cool about voting for candidates who are unabashedly Feminist. It’s not as simple for me as “pro-choice, pro-obama” was 4 years ago. It’s not as simple as the Unite Against the War on Women march (or any other mainstream pro-choice rally) where the takeaway was “Now go home and VOTE! For Democrats!” As Betty Maloney put it at our panel last week, “The Democrats are half the problem.” As far as the wars, the deportations, gay marriage (ahem), abstinence-only education funding, the war on drugs, corporate backing and funding, etc etc. “The lesser of two evils” is the option we’re given. The only option. And if you’re under 18, you get no options at all. It’s defeatist to think that This is the only say we’ve got. I want radical change, I want revolution. I want something more than the lesser of two evils.

The other day, in a moment of strength, I peeled off that window decal.

The problem now is that I’ve got nothing to replace it with. If my grandpa (who bought me this car 6 years ago) saw that I was proudly supporting socialists, I’d have a problem. I’m sure that old leftist sticker was about as radical as he figured I could be.

Questions that I was focusing on:
• How can we work to end racism?
• Intersection of race, sex, gender, sexuality and class
• How feminists and queers of color are the living connections between struggles and movements and “put it all together.”
• How the leadership of feminists and queers of color is crucial to all the social justice movements.
• Power of working across racial divides – in the workplace and in the movements, like Occupy.
• The importance of white activists in actively fighting racism.

So now we know a little bit more about racism, how it started, and why it’s been so cyclical and pervasive. And I think we can see that there is a pretty strong correlation (or is it causation?!) between racism and classism – they support each other, and work hand in hand to further oppress already-marginalized people. The white working class relies on racism to give them an edge, consciously or not – and institutionally they are encouraged to. And then classism couples with racism to cause more struggles to already marginalized communities.

And it doesn’t end there. All these identities are wrapped up and intersectional – they feed off one another, they bounce off one another, they are messy and inextricable – some people call it the matrix of oppression. Intersectionality is the idea that these oppressions can’t be separated – we all inhabit many identities at once. Some of us can be privileged in one way, and oppressed in another. Some of us have more compound privileges or oppressions. Very few people inhabit every single oppressed class or every single privileged class. Intersectionalism recognizes difference and encourages activists to deal with it – not put it aside and assume that we are all in it together, fighting the same fight against all oppression – it’s not that simple. Even by saying we are all the 99% erases some vast differences between the different struggles we all live with and live under.

But we have to become more aware of these differences, talk about them, learn about each other, recognize privilege and respect oppression, on all fronts. And it’s not about “the oppression olympics” either – we can all learn to be better activists, of LGBT allies, or antiracist allies, or trans allies. And we all have to live under the same racism, classist, sexist system. It oppresses all of us together – but often in very different ways. Recognizing and respecting that enables us to organize more fruitfully, more understanding, more broadly.

It means that the most marginalized people don’t get left behind – we don’t want to take the revolution step by step, we don’t want anyone to be left waiting for their turn. We are tired of putting some fights on the back burner to make room for the more palatable, more broad-based fights. Because when the most marginalized get left behind, it cheapens all of our activism. If we aren’t sticking up for the “bottom rung” as some say, we’re not doing enough. The master’s tools, man. If we are going to be progressive activists, we have to go all the way.

That’s why queers and feminists of color need to be leading the revolution. Their voices need to be heard the loudest, because they are the ones who most often get left behind and told to wait their turn in the revolution. And the most marginalized are the people that understand oppression more than I can – I had to work hard to learn about racism – I still am. I had to take an antiracist class to learn more about this stuff, for christ’s sake. The most oppressed people live with their oppression every minute of every day, so clearly, they know how best to fight it.

And I recognize the irony of me and Dan standing up here and talking about all this – we are pretty privileged people. We’re white, we’re straight, we’re cisgendered, we’re from fucking westchester, for crying out loud. But that’s important too – It’s just as important for white allies to stand up for race issues and speak out against injustice. It’s important to use your privilege to incite change in your own communities, and call out bullshit when you see it. And then, better yet, bring those more oppressed groups to the front, and let them explain it, because they’re better at it. And you’ve already had your turn. Your whole life. And with that, let me turn it back to Emily, my queer woman of color friend, to wrap it up.

My profile is really clearly feminist, without digging too deep (the fourth word is “feminist,” for example). I feel like most of the people who message me are decent – because the photo of my hairy armpits serves to filter out lots of guys, you know? But sometimes something else happens.

I get a message – a chat message – from someone who is really upfront. About sex. It happens often enough to constitute a phenomenon. Someone says “hey cutie ”  and the conversation almost immediately turns to sex. When I last had it, how it was, how often I have it, how I like to have it.

The thing is! I’m really open about sex. I’m not sure if these men read my profile and get that sense or not, but I really don’t mind talking about my sex life. But usually, uhh with people I know. Or people who I’ve spoken about other things first with? Talking about sex is really important to talk about if you might be having sex with someone, right? But it’s not that important to talk about with strangers who won’t stop telling me how hot I am.

I figure that these are mostly men who are just horny, and are looking for some jack-off material before bed. And maybe sometimes that’s not repulsive to me. But they are strangers. The other day, this happened to me (It’s something that happens to me), and I played along for a few exchanges. Then I tried to ask him about something else – where he grew up, what he’s interested in, what he does for a living. Those questions. He was being really cute and nice! But when I tried to change the topic away from sex, it…didn’t work. He was aching for me to turn him on. A stranger. Via the internet. It became off-putting.

So I got serious — I told him that we should talk about something else. I told him he was making me uncomfortable. I told him I was quickly losing interest in meeting him. He couldn’t understand why, so I explained, pretty clearly: “If all you want to talk about is sex, how do I know you respect me as a person, not just a sex object, if we were ever to meet?” He understood, maybe. He said that we could talk about anything after he asked me more about the intimate details of my personal life. I said No. I asked if I wasn’t being clear. He told me I was “being a tease.” I told him that was absolutely not what I was doing. The conversation ended when I said that his refusal to listen to me or hear what I was saying, pretty clearly, made him someone I’d never be with. Which is absolutely the truth.

Does this happen to lots of women? Does it happen to lots of “women like me?” Does it happen to men? Something tells me this is gendered, but it might just be Me. I’m sure there are some women who love this type of exchange, and that makes a lot of sense to me — but I’m not one of those women. I can even imagine that some women are on the other side of a conversation like this, trying to rub one out before bed. But it’s never a conversation I’ve even considered started. Ever. Because it’s creepy.

I’m here to remind everyone that the world sucks, and it’s not getting better. Yay!!! And that when you’re fighting for the things you believe in, don’t forget about the other stuff you believe in. When you’re fighting off the most heinous attacks and just trying to stay afloat in a sea of WHAT THE FUCK, don’t forget about the more straightforward and basic stuff we are all still fighting for. Dust yourself off. Take a deep breath. And then keep on fucking fighting forever.

• When feminists say “wait, none of anybody’s tax dollars go toward covering contraception in the new bill” they need to end their sentences with “And so what if it did?” No federal tax dollars go toward abortions, but we have to get that overturned. How are we going to do that if we’re constantly saying “wait it’s not that bad!” Federal funding for medically important and life-saving things shouldn’t be the worst outcome – it should be expected.

• And when Susan G Komen pulls their money from cancer screenings provided by Planned Parenthood, we have to point out that PP saves lives, that 97% of what they do isn’t abortions, that politics and bullshit shouldn’t get in the way of healthcare – and then we have to say “Oh also! Abortions save lives too! And we’re still fighting for that!” And yeah, PP is pro-choice because abortions are still important goddammit.

• And when there is talk everywhere about transvaginal ultrasounds, we have to point that it could be perceived as state-mandated rape, and that it’s fucking outrageous to mandate a medically unnecessary procedure just to make sure women “know what they’re doing.” (TRUST WOMEN TRUST WOMEN). And then we have to say “OH AND mandating ANY ultrasounds is completely offensive and misguided too! And we’re working on overturning those limits to abortion everywhere too!” Don’t spring those nice, regular, non-penetrative ultrasounds on us after we say FUCK NO to those extra-terrible ultrasounds. That’s not it.

• And when Rush Limbaugh calls a woman a slut, on the assumption that she was taking birth control for all the wild and crazy sex she was having, I don’t want to sign a petition saying “Women who use birth control aren’t sluts!” Fuck that. When we say “Hey Rush, Sandra Fluke was really testifying about birth control when needed for health purposes, not because of all the crazy sex she is having…” We have to end it with “BUT SOME OF US ARE having that crazy sex, and some of us are sluts, and we want birth control too! Because preventing pregnancy is ALSO a good reason for using birth control (FOR FUCK’S SAKE!).

I’m just tired, and it never ends. Prepare for battle though, because we’re not going away either. BAM! Be well, feminist friends, take care of yourselves.

My stepdad commutes to the city from Westchester every day, and he has a monthly ticket. For those who aren’t Metro-North experts like me: It’s a commuter rail. The ride for him is about a half hour, and a one-way ticket (during rush hours, or “peak” hours), costs $10.50. Off-peak costs $7.75 (Fares are higher on-board). A monthly costs $229 (It’s a great deal).

So, naturally, when my stepdad isn’t using his monthly (nights and weekends), I use it. It works out pretty well – sometimes his train gets in at 5:45, and mine leaves at 5:54. He hands the monthly to me and gets in the car, and I get on a train. It’s cute.

Fine print says the ticket is understandably non-transferable. The MTA doesn’t want you and your friends sharing a monthly. They lose money if you do that. The THING is. When you purchase your monthly, the machine asks you for your gender. That’s the way the conductor identifies you: M or F. A few conductors have threatened to confiscate the monthly when they see that I present as “F” and my ticket says “M.” My friend also steals his dad’s monthly – but they both present as “M,” so theres no way a conductor would know that it’s not his own ticket. He’s never had a hard time.

I’ve been annoyed by this for a while, and I couldn’t explain why. I know I’m breaking the rules, I know I’m stealing rides. Shrugs. I can reconcile that by saying that my stepdad could ride the train on the weekends if he wanted to – and it’s the same number of passengers on the train. But I know, I’m wrong and I’m breaking the rules. OK. If I want to use the MTA’s services, I should have to pay. My grandpa reminded me that that’s how capitalism works. I’m annoyed because I want my privilege. The ride from the suburbs to the city is not reasonable for someone whose parents don’t work there, basically. And I have this luxury and I want to make use of it.

It’s not necessarily sexist – if my mom commuted, I could take her ticket. And more men probably commute than women, but the rule doesn’t really work in a sexist way. But I knew deep down that something about this policy was wrong. And I don’t think it’s just because I’m a lucky Westchester girl whining about getting her free trip that she thinks she deserves (that is exactly what it is).

Of course, it’s wrong that it’s another manifestation of the gender binary, and it’s wrong that you have to choose, and it’s wrong that someone could question you about your gender at any time and be in line with policy. All of it is wrong. Duh. (When the conductor told me he’d confiscate it if I tried to use it on the trip back, I told him I’d be male on the way back.)

But WHAT’S WRONG IS: It would be unconscionable to ask you to put your race. Could you imagine? “Excuse me ma’am, you don’t look white” “Excuse me sir, that ticket belongs to a black person and I’ll have to confiscate it.” Because that would be ridiculous. The MTA would have a PR nightmare. Because we all know that race is a spectrum, and isn’t real, and you can’t boil someone down to just their skin color and say that it identifies them. But when it comes to gender, this is still how we do it.

I don’t have an answer or an alternative. Putting anything more specific would take all of a conductor’s time to check it. And if you took away gender, more people would share monthlies. And that would just be the worst.

And when I texted Jess (a new friend, who I met on my Israel trip) back, I said “Back at ya!” and then he said “What are you doing to celebrate?” I paused on the steps; I was leaving the library after an extra-long shift (4 hours!). And then I responded “The same thing I do every day.” I smiled to myself because that’s exactly how I’m celebrating.

Let me explain. To me, feminism is about questioning. It’s about critical thinking and big questions and big thinking, and not believing everything you hear or feel or see. Of course, it’s about so many more things, but my feminism doesn’t work without that questioning, that first step.

Like yesterday, I woke up and laid in bed and watched that Kony 2012 video. And I really felt it. I really felt like I had to be a part of this fight, for these children, and that as an activist, I had to get behind this. It’s a really good video. Like, really good. And in fact, it’s a great idea, a cool campaign, a take-it-to-the-streets online mentality that appeals to me. The thing is though, that’s not all it is. It’s got big problems. It’s a campaign that we need to question, and we can’t blindly think is great and good. Being a feminist (among other things) means always thinking ahead, always looking at the issue from all angles – especially before signing up. The good news is that lots of people are doing that.

And it’s like the Rush Limbaugh bullshit nonsense uproar. I can’t even really talk about it because I just can’t. But it’s about questioning all of it – even the backlash against him. It’s about calling out slut-shaming that comes from feminists who are repudiating Rush, and about how Rush is one guy that encapsulates many things and systems. And ughhhhh.

It’s about fighting hard against the oppressive anti-woman legislation coming up in too many states – but then looking critically at our word usage when we fight them. And asking if fighting against trans-vaginal ultrasounds makes it look like we’re in favor of it’s equally-ridiculous law: mandatory tummy ultrasounds. Both assume that women don’t know anything about their bodies, and can’t make decisions for themselves.

Being a feminist means questioning even the things that look good, the things that look right. Like the Stop Patriarchy march in a few weeks. I would love to stop patriarchy. I think this is a huge amazing event that is getting lots of attention and fighting hard. But I’m also questioning how I feel about all the anti-porn sentiments – can I get past my feelings about that? I’m so pro-sex and pro-sex-work, that I can’t really get behind a march that is being anti-porn with such a broad brush.

So it makes sense that today I’m celebrating International Women’s Day by questioning the meaning of international Women’s Day. By doing the same things I do every day – reading the blogs, scrolling the tweets, perusing the listservs, in order to get a more full understanding of what this day means to me, where it comes from, what I like about it, and what I don’t stand for. Never stopping doing those things. Some version of “if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.”

I’m participating in the National Abortion Access Bowl-A-Thon! Abortion Access should be a basic right, and yet it’s constantly under fire. The money donated will go directly to STRIKING down barriers to reproductive health. The country has gone berserk the past few months, and these issues are not going away. Please consider donating, and please please please spread the word. Thanks.

Donate here:
http://bowlathon.nnaf.org/nnafbowl/participantpage.asp?fundid=975&uid=3415&nnaffundid=28&emailsent=1

But I do know that I don’t want to be a part of a culture that allows him to be famous after those pictures surfaced. I don’t want to be a part of a culture that makes celebrities apologize for saying that what he did was wrong. I don’t want to be a part of a culture that LOVES him, even though he hasn’t publicly shown any remorse, any consciousness, anyTHING at all.

If we didn’t live in this culture, this rape culture, he wouldn’t be back on the radio. Ever. We would be saddened that he fell in such a tragic and preventable way, and we would be hopeful that our brothers and sons never made the same choices. But we could be proud of ourselves for making sure we condemned him. We would never worry that we didin’t set the right example by publicly ostracizing him and holding him accountable for his actions. We could breathe a little easier knowing that we didn’t send the message to our daughters that if they are ever abused or assaulted, we wouldn’t listen to them or take them seriously. We would know that we were one step closer to eradicating the phrase “she asked for it” from our collective consciousness.

For everyone who is bothered by my ceaseless tweets tonight, fuck you. If you’re not with us, you’re against us. If you’re watching Chris Brown tonight, if you’re not actively fighting against rape culture and patriarchy, and victim-blaming, you’re part of the problem. And the least I can do is unfollow and unfriend you.

This rage was inspired by domestic violence.
But also by this article, written by @sashrocks, which I read via @muffmacguff. @thedandybutch read it aloud to me while I drove home from SYR today.

http://hellogiggles.com/im-not-okay-with-chris-brown-performing-at-the-grammys-and-im-not-sure-why-you-are

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.

(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.”