Of course this is a stupid question. As a woman, raising a boy, I still find it amazing, if not bordering on shocking, how more than half the world is governed by men. Really, have you seen them as a five year old? It's unbelievable that the spastic boy, skipping, karate-chopping his way down the sidewalk could, one day, be the President of the United States. When this spinning dervish is cutting a swath down any sidewalk in our neighborhood, I pretend he belongs to someone else, and not me. Believe me, it's much easier and less embarrassing this way.
So, why not a woman for President? Haven't we waited long enough for this moment? Geraldine Ferraro was more a symbol than a real possibility. And in truth, our country wasn't ready at that time to wrap their heads, male and female, around the possibility of the White House having to contend with PMS and other known stereotypes of "womanhood." Yes, the Brits had had Thatcher for years, but again our country is so much more entrenched in patriarchal models than other nations.
I guess my real question is not why not, but rather why her? She being Hillary Rodham, then known as Hillary Rodham Clinton, and now just known simply as Hillary Clinton. I am an ardent foaming-at-the-mouth feminist. Add French Deconstructionist, Marxist, and you may have an idea of my militancy. In high school, I was chosen by my school to attend a symposium held at the UN where high school delegates from all over the country would listen to speakers on the topic of the symposium, which in my year was: Feminism in the World. It was in the great UN General Council hall, at the same podium where world leaders have spoken, berated, or begged their international brothers and sisters, that Betty Friedan and other noteworthy Feminists espoused their derision for the male species. I was asked to give a speech at this conference in the UN General Assembly, addressing my view that Feminism was a Western middle-class construct, and therefore not to be exported in its singularity all over the globe. Yes, I really did give such a speech in high school.
I've thought a great deal about Hillary Clinton, and why it is I'm exhausted by the thought of her running this country. Yes, if she weren't up against the superstar of a Barak Obama, maybe I would be less ambiguous about her as a candidate and as a President. But then I recall our first introduction to Hillary Rodham, claiming rather defensively she didn't "stay home and bake chocolate chip cookies," since she was out busy fighting for woman's rights, and fighting in general to make sure her husband would become the most powerful man in the country. The backlash from this statement, the message of which was not lost on a great many women, was that Hillary Rodham quickly became Hillary Rodham Clinton. Then there was the Hillary Rodham Clinton, who defended her philandering husband by stating, again rather defensively, she was "not some little woman standing by her man". And now we have Hillary Clinton telling us, urging us, to believe in her ability to lead this nation, all the while sending out her husband as an attack dog. Hmmm...Does give one pause, right?
True, she was the first, First Lady to have an office where more was being done than simply scheduling state dinners. Remember the mess she made of the health care issue? But those eight years, the crowning moment being the impeachment trials, and then the charges they had plundered the White House on their way out, and the country's fatigue with all things Clinton (the result of which has been the last eight years, along with our current First Lady, who by all measure, is supposedly smart, if not mute) has brought us to a point where the country is begging for something more, something different.
I wish I could love the first woman, who has a real shot at being President. What a significant moment this is for us, but again I'm plagued by my ambivalence about, and toward, Hillary. The transparency of her ambition, which should be viewed as a positive attribute, has the exact opposite effect. Instead of applauding her chutzpah and drive, I am made uneasy by it. Why? Are the subconscious messages of the archetypes of the powerful woman as a sinister figure, just remember Medusa and Lady MacBeth, so ingrained that I'm made to question this smart, driven, woman, who just happens to want to be President? Does my uneasiness make me less of a Feminist? Or is there something more behind my uneasiness?
Or is it that she is a feminist of her particular generation, thereby making it harder for me to understand the stridency and urgency behind all that she had accomplished? Do I suffer from the luxury, made possible by Hillary and her cohorts, of having less to prove, thereby left with the need to have a more nuanced approach to the battles between the two sexes? Whatever the causes behind my ambivalence, I am left grappling with the complex emotions, rather strong, that she brings out in me. Believe me when I say I so wish I didn't feel this way. No matter what happens, she's already done more to break that final glass ceiling in our country. She's made it possible for us to consider, rather seriously, a woman as Commander-in-Chief of this nation. I do believe what we need the next time out is a superstar of Barak Obama's caliber, a woman who can transcend gender. Unfortunately for Hillary, she ain't it. That, I do believe, will happen with someone who will be more my contemporary.
Showing posts with label Gender Politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gender Politics. Show all posts
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Confusion
Women and men are worse off today than our parents may have been. How, you ask? Yes, there is the whole devaluation of the dollar, the shrinking of the middle class, blah, blah, blah. But the real confusion, the kind that can pit one spouse against the other, occurs because gender roles for men and women are no longer so clearly defined. The patriarchal world, the one our mothers understood and maneuvered, has been scrambled, jumbled, and messed up, leaving all of us scratching our heads. This is the age when the Metrosexual Male, those men in touch with their feminine side, is a part of our consciousness about male identity. We now know there is a distinction between swishy men and those simply into good grooming practices. This gender confusion now makes a marriage a constant battle ground as we try to figure out what our roles are supposed to be.
Most of my friends in LA had no such concerns. They seemed content to stay at home, assuming traditional roles, the very roles Betty Friedan and others had fought against. Most seemed relieved actually to be able to stay at home, even if they were bored witless by the lack of intellectual strenuousness in this 'privilege'. Now that I think about it, most never, ever voiced concern at all. It was more of a collective sigh of relief that they'd found a man, caught a man, and thank goodness he's a good earner, and can now stay at home being taken care of by this very man. It was all a bit disturbing, as if the last forty or so years since the ardent feminists had argued more for our sex had never occurred.
Some could argue that educational levels may play a part in a woman's satisfaction or dissatisfaction with their marriage. The more educated you are, the less likely you are to be satisfied. And certainly not to stay at home playing the dutiful wife. Sad, isn't it? The higher your degree, the certainty of your unhappiness. When I look back on this particular group of friends from LA, most had a BA, although some couldn't even claim that. Very few had anything beyond a BA. Most had worked, but seemed to be happy to not have to do it again. Some even had lucrative careers, financially, if not all that stimulating. One could say they were happy to have avoided a life of the middling management life by getting married. And most could never understand what it was I did with my time when I claimed, 'to be working.'
The writing life is a mystery for most people, other than other writers. We do this thing, most people aren't really capable of doing, alone, for hours on end. The end product may or may not get published, thereby adding a sense of futility or, if one is so inclined, as masturbatory. We are a world where productivity has to match some result. But the writing life is one where such artificial expectations defeat the whole purpose of this thing you are driven to do.
My marriage sometimes feels like an archaeological expedition as we try to dig out clearly defined roles for both husband and wife. Our search and negotiation is all the more vexing because of the ephemeral quality of my work. What's worse for my dear husband is the fact I was raised by parents, despite being Asian, who are ardent feminists. I was told my entire life that a woman's happiness depends on her ability to carve out a separate identity from wife and mother. That really, men may leave, and children will definitely leave, therefore you'd better have something of your own or you are screwed. This also went along with all women should absolutely have money of their own. The idea of a woman's financial life being dictated by a man is absolute anathema to them, and would be a signal of failure.
With such pressure, you can imagine the sense of urgency in our search for our respective roles as husband and wife. And how complicated it all becomes since I view my career and the productivity of my writing life as important as his. Sometimes when we've gone around and around about these very issues, I secretly wish I could be more like my friends, those content with being just a wife and mother. This secret wish lasts a nanosecond once I recall the underlying boredom and unhappiness each exhibited, sometimes unwittingly. But nonetheless, I do harbor it, every so often.
Life would be so much easier if our roles for husbands and wives, were clearer less amorphous. But it seems all of it gets murkier each year, all of us floundering around trying to figure it all out for ourselves. I suspect divorces will start to occur with some frequency in the next five years. Whether or not they will be the result of the confusion in gender roles still remains to be seen. All I know is the archaeological expedition seems to go on and on, each year bringing a new territory to be explored.
Most of my friends in LA had no such concerns. They seemed content to stay at home, assuming traditional roles, the very roles Betty Friedan and others had fought against. Most seemed relieved actually to be able to stay at home, even if they were bored witless by the lack of intellectual strenuousness in this 'privilege'. Now that I think about it, most never, ever voiced concern at all. It was more of a collective sigh of relief that they'd found a man, caught a man, and thank goodness he's a good earner, and can now stay at home being taken care of by this very man. It was all a bit disturbing, as if the last forty or so years since the ardent feminists had argued more for our sex had never occurred.
Some could argue that educational levels may play a part in a woman's satisfaction or dissatisfaction with their marriage. The more educated you are, the less likely you are to be satisfied. And certainly not to stay at home playing the dutiful wife. Sad, isn't it? The higher your degree, the certainty of your unhappiness. When I look back on this particular group of friends from LA, most had a BA, although some couldn't even claim that. Very few had anything beyond a BA. Most had worked, but seemed to be happy to not have to do it again. Some even had lucrative careers, financially, if not all that stimulating. One could say they were happy to have avoided a life of the middling management life by getting married. And most could never understand what it was I did with my time when I claimed, 'to be working.'
The writing life is a mystery for most people, other than other writers. We do this thing, most people aren't really capable of doing, alone, for hours on end. The end product may or may not get published, thereby adding a sense of futility or, if one is so inclined, as masturbatory. We are a world where productivity has to match some result. But the writing life is one where such artificial expectations defeat the whole purpose of this thing you are driven to do.
My marriage sometimes feels like an archaeological expedition as we try to dig out clearly defined roles for both husband and wife. Our search and negotiation is all the more vexing because of the ephemeral quality of my work. What's worse for my dear husband is the fact I was raised by parents, despite being Asian, who are ardent feminists. I was told my entire life that a woman's happiness depends on her ability to carve out a separate identity from wife and mother. That really, men may leave, and children will definitely leave, therefore you'd better have something of your own or you are screwed. This also went along with all women should absolutely have money of their own. The idea of a woman's financial life being dictated by a man is absolute anathema to them, and would be a signal of failure.
With such pressure, you can imagine the sense of urgency in our search for our respective roles as husband and wife. And how complicated it all becomes since I view my career and the productivity of my writing life as important as his. Sometimes when we've gone around and around about these very issues, I secretly wish I could be more like my friends, those content with being just a wife and mother. This secret wish lasts a nanosecond once I recall the underlying boredom and unhappiness each exhibited, sometimes unwittingly. But nonetheless, I do harbor it, every so often.
Life would be so much easier if our roles for husbands and wives, were clearer less amorphous. But it seems all of it gets murkier each year, all of us floundering around trying to figure it all out for ourselves. I suspect divorces will start to occur with some frequency in the next five years. Whether or not they will be the result of the confusion in gender roles still remains to be seen. All I know is the archaeological expedition seems to go on and on, each year bringing a new territory to be explored.
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