Women in Combat

It was an article I received on the Twitter feed from the NY Post Opinion column.  When I tweeted my opinion, I had no idea there were so many people radically opposed to Women in Combat, despite the fact that we already are.

[caption id="attachment_1017" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Daughters of the American Revolution"][/caption]

Why are we here again?  Why are we discussing this, again?  This discussion was closed over 20 years ago.  We won, or did you not get the memo?  The issue of Selective Service registration is just part of the clean up after the battle.  It's not our fault that Politicians keep dragging their feet on the issue, making it appear to the Main Stream Media and the public at large that the issue is new, is not settled, and is still open for debate.

At first I thought it was just another vehicle Politicians could use in the 2012 Election to battle Social Policies which provide Equality and equal Freedom for Women.  In case you haven't been paying attention, Women have become the battle ground for the next Presidential Election.  The issue specifically is to require young women to register for the Selective Service at age 18, follow the links on the Opinion piece for reference.  The only requirement that continues to separate a Woman in the Military from her Male peers - they, men, have a national mandate to register while our service is entirely voluntary.  The very last hurdle Women need to be recognized as equals & peers among their Male peers.  The trickledown effect of Women in the Military and Social Policies within the United States have already proven to be effective in the application of the US Constitution & Amendments fully to Women Citizens of the United States of America - Selective Service.  They showed America that when given the option to Serve, we do so Freely.  That last hurdle means Gender Neutrality.  That means identifying a process for which American Women Citizens may demonstrate their Loyalty to their Nation, including the defense of their Nation even on the Battle Field.  It requires Strategy.  It requires the Sons of the American Revolution to look across the White House Lawn to the Daughters of the American Revolution and Strategically review our Assets.

Here we are again discussing women’s role in the Military.  Quite frankly, some of the opinions I have seen are insulting to the US Military.  To suggest that the United States Military, the most powerful force on the globe, is somehow incapable of training women to serve in combat is nearly treasonous.  And what’s more insulting, is the fact that many of the opinions either intentionally omit or are truly uninformed that women have been serving combat roles since 1973.

Charlie Wilson taught our Military Intelligence that Women's Freedom was an illusion, despite his well earned reputation of loving Women to his demise.  Through his efforts, and his ultimate failure to earn the votes necessary to build schools in Afghanistan after the Mujahedeen defeated the Soviets, Charlie Wilson allowed the United States to ransom Women's Freedom and the application of the US Constitution of our Citizenry without racial or gender bias.  Charlie Wilson's Jail Bait opened the door to educated women, giving them the opportunity to compete in the Job Market alongside their Male Peers for equal pay.  Not all Jail Bait was assigned to Embassy Duty or Congressional Committees.  They were sent to the Front Lines to learn how to send Equipment into Battle.  We were pretty enough, smart enough, brave enough and reckless enough to do the job.  Just like our Male Peers.  Pretty enough to Protect, Tough enough to Respect.  Some reference: George Crile, CNN Article

In 1980, Congress and President Reagan facilitated the US Military's first real, demonstrable efforts to faze Women into Combat Roles in a meaningful sense.  The repeal of the draft in 1973 was nearly 10 years old when they began programs that would put women in Combat and Combat Support roles.  For nearly seven years, from the end of the draft in 1973 and the start of Selective Service, women had been taking the opportunities open to them and were given a glimmer of equality in the Military.  It was Operation Urgent Fury in Grenada 1983 that proved Women, after 10 years of training, could serve in Combat Support, inching up as close to the battle as possible and performing not only well but effectively.  Charlie Wilson had begun his “bare knuckle” approach to providing assistance to Afghanistan in order to defeat the Soviet Union.  What people don’t know or want to forget, is that Charlie Wilson loved women, and it was because of his belief that women could literally do anything they put their mind to, he helped put us prominently in the face of politicians.  He loved women so much he filled his staff with “Jail Bait”.  His motto, “You can teach them to type but you can’t teach them to grow tits” rang through the House & Senate, garnering him the respect and envy of every Politician around him.  Some noble Congressmen even went so far as to emulate him by bringing more and more women into their staff rosters and voting in Congress to allow women expanded roles in the Military, including combat.  It helped that women performed exceedingly well in Grenada as loadmasters, engineers and pilots.

By 1987, Charlie Wilson and his covert War, was well under way.  The issue of Women in Combat was under review with “statutory limitations” applied to "eligible" Combat Support Roles, and the USAF was infusing women into Combat Flight Lines.  We had covertly entered the fight in the Middle East by supporting Afghanistan.  Then in 1988, Pan Am Flight 103 was attacked by terrorists with ties to Lybia, and by 1990, Iraq marched into Kuwait.  I think that it was the backing down the first time we tried to engage Iraq in 1991 that Women lost footing in the US Military.  By the time we went into Afghanistan to chase bin Laden in 2001, then Iraq again in 2003, women had made significant inroads to serving in combat alongside their male peers, but made absolutely no in roads to reconcile the UCMJ and Sharia Law in regards to women.  We were an excellently trained Force with nowhere to go and our Country at War.  Now we are talking about Lybia again in 2011, the issue of women in combat is coming up for political review, and it only serves one purpose:  limit women’s role in combat and the US Military engages the Middle East with a significant reduction in troops – women can’t serve “on the ground” in Islamic Nations.

It was in between the backing down in Iraq and that time in 2003 when we returned with the force of 10,000 Orcs, when women in combat disappeared from the main stream media.  It was during this time that the US gave into Sharia Law, that the need for Air Space outweighed the UCMJ, and we, as a Nation, made our first demonstration of “backing down” to the Islamic Nations, and by extension, the Islamic Terrorist Groups.  We needed air fields and flight lines, to put our F-16’s and A-10’s so they could support the Ground Troops just in case we decided to ever invade someone in the region.  Saudi Arabia loved it; they had the most powerful Military in the world hosted on their Nation’s soil.  They became the big kid in the Sand Box with a baseball bat.  The US ransomed Women’s Freedom, something only Women living within the United States have an expectation.  We kept our women out of the Middle East, and in return Kuwait was set free from Saddam Hussein, or so the story goes.  In the years between 1991 and 2001, the US Military acquiesced time after time to every Islamic Nation on the Rules for Women.  Rules which stifle Freedom.  Rules which promote abuse and hint at slavery.  Saudi Arabia has been the biggest and most vocal opponents to US Military Women, with Lybia right on their heels.  While giving into the Terrorist demands, all the US Military could muster were a few strategically placed women in uniform, just to remind everyone that yes; the remaining 20% of our Troops are at home.

While Women’s Freedoms in the US flourished in both personal choices and career options in the 80's and early 90's, the image of the Free Woman became the dominant theme in US foreign relations with the Middle East.  All because of Charlie Wilson, John Murtha, and a little blind girl in prison, on death row, because she was raped.  They could not tolerate a Woman, their beautiful little Jail Bait being treated the same way.  This is the GOP who raised me.  I am a grown up Jail Bait.

It was Bush who sent women into combat on the Supply Chain in 2003; 20 years after Reagan drew on military women to prevail in Grenada.  For the first time, 20 years after they first entered the combat arena, women became part of the Ground Assault, delivering food and fuel and supplies to the units.  Just like Mad Maxx. Not just pilots and loadmasters, not safely ensconced behind the walls of a deployed command, but actually on the ground in enemy territory.  Twenty years after we began training, we lost our first true casualties of war.  Not just one woman in a single engagement, but multiple women in multiple skirmishes and some of them were even taken Prisoner.  In service to their country, in defense of their nation, in pursuit of their national freedom, they entered combat.  The psychological effect on the Islamic Nations was poignant.  In the nearly 10 years since our first female prisoners were taken in Iraq, the image of the Female Soldier continues to instill fear in the Islamic heart.  We have proven through our dedication to our Nation that we won't be taken without a fight and our military peers will retrieve us while dealing to our enemies a devastating death blow.  Imagine the philosophical conundrum of the Islamic mind - as a Muslim Man fighting Jihad, killed by a US Woman in a US Military Uniform.  So much for the promise of a Warrior's Death and those 40 virgins.  You can thank Gust for that little close combat psychological knife twist.

I served the US Military from 1987 to 1991, in the US Air Force as an F-16 Crew Chief.  I was on a flight line every day, loading jets with fuel tanks, bombs, missiles, gun ammo, and most importantly, a pilot.  My job was to get the plane off the ground at all costs.  Protect the asset, get it airborne – a jet on the tarmac is a sitting duck, but in the air it is a deadly force.  Get it up!  What I did not know, because I was too young and there was no Internet in 1986, was that the Graham Rudman Hollings Act of 1986-1989 a deficit reduction bill, affected Women in the Military and would by design of ending or significantly reducing the statutory limits on Women's Combat Training Programs, be a signal to the Islamic World that the US also treats it's women differently and we do have restrictions on Women's Freedom.  We promise not to send the Amazon's after you if you settle down share the oil and stop killing each other.

When I arrived at Tech school in Wichita Falls Texas, the male to female ratio was 3-1.  We were all crew chiefs in training.  It was easy - dangerously so.  The systems came to me so perfectly, the operational goals were so clear that when I received less than 100% on my exams, I demanded retraining until I reached a perfect score.  I received my orders 2 weeks before graduation – F-16, Shaw Air Force Base South Carolina.  Every day as I began the transition the male to female ratio began to change.  As my female peers were sent to Strategic Air Command, I was sent to Tactical Air Command.  They were preparing for large airplanes, large runways, and large facilities.  I was focused on small fast dangerous fighters, Falcons, capable of taking out a tank on the ground or a MIG in the air.  They were as dangerous on the ground to flight line personnel as they were in the air to enemy craft.  They were combat weapons and I was training to throw them up in the air to destroy enemies.

Prior to leaving for my final destination unit, the male to female ratio drastically changed to 5-1.  More times than not, I found myself the only female in a 10 man formation.  The Instructors from Tech School were replaced with Unit Personnel rotating through new recruit Training, preparing Airmen like us for the Operational Flight Line.  It got harder.  No longer was there an opportunity to demand re-training, it was Production Time, we were Live.  Then I reached the Flight Line.  There were 3 of us in the entire 300 man unit and only 2 of us were female crew chiefs.  For the first 30 days, every variation of the term Jail Bait was used, sometimes as a compliment, sometimes as an epithet. Within 6 months the only other female crew chief in my unit got pregnant and left both the unit and the flight line.  Then there was me.

For nearly 18 months, I was the only woman.  Crew chiefs, weapons, every specialty sub unit servicing the F-16’s – just me, the lone woman.  At one point I reflected back to Tech School and wondered where the hell all my peers went.  In less than 2 years I went from being just one of the crowd to the single woman in a sea of men, and not just any men, Crew Dawgs.  These men were hard, grizzled in only the way a United States Air Force Fighter Squadron Crew could be, at the tender age of 23.  They went to the gym daily, they went to the shooting range weekly, their jets came home Code 1 each and every time.  Anything less than a code 1 resulted in brutal fist fights between the various Specialties – pointing blame for not doing your job, for accepting less than 100% mission success.  It got harder.  This was a Fighter Flight Line.  This was Combat training Air Force style.

These seasoned Dawgs were our mentors, our leaders.  They directed the flow of the Flight Line process, prioritizing the fixes, ordering the crews, preparing for the next set of sorties.  Every mistake, every error was caught, questioned and examined by these men.  If they didn’t like the fasteners on an engine panel, they stood there yelling at you while you replaced it.  If they questioned your landing gear, they hovered over your shoulder berating you until the safety wire was replaced on every fastener.  They keep the jets in the air.  During the quiet times, this excessive hovering and barking seemed ridiculous, until we started War Week.  Following process is the only way to successfully completing the Mission.

In the Military, a week is officially 7 days, however, the definition is fluid.  A week could be 10 days.  It seems an insignificant observation, however, in the field, that 3 day differential can be excruciating.  It was during my first War Week that I discovered the horror of the Gas Mask.  Somewhere I got the notion I would never be in a situation where Gas Masks would be required, that was for Ground Troops.  I got “tagged” early in the War and spent 5 days filling body bags, also known as The Morgue.  We weren’t really dead; we were just out of play.

During my third War Week, I made it to day 6 before I got tagged.  This time however, I was tagged by my own unit as I was on my way to triggering a booby trap, so I was still in play.  Sadly, my mistake was not the only one – another group of our Dawgs also made a mistake and cumulatively the mistakes cost us a further day.  The penalty was an additional gassing with the loss of our physical buildings – we had to do everything from our makeshift bunkers scattered around the flight line.

At my fourth War Week, I found my niche – a dual role of Throw & Catch.  I spent the Launch at End of Runway, throwing the Falcons into the air, and then hauled ass across the flight line back to the unit command to catch them when they came down.  It was the first time I did not get tagged in an assault, as I was always on the move.  My little niche allowed a stronger male Crew Chief to remain at the Command manning the jets.  End of Runway was a role done in specific windows of time and can be defended far better than the actual flight line.  Therefore, the stronger Crew Dawgs were needed to remain with the earth bound predators.  Since I was capturing the operational data directly from the pilots, I was able to identify problem birds on the very last check point.  Because I was trained by intimidating Dawgs, I had the backbone to challenge Pilots on bogus maintenance issues and provide a full debrief to the Unit.  Often times, simply remembering that the light bulb in the clipboard map-mount is intermittent and the part is on back order resulted in a code 1 sortie.  It was my fourth War Week in 3 years that my unit won the Daedalion Award which kept us in the Training Competition.  The points which put us over the top were our accurate maintenance operations data.  My briefing of the EOR Crew assisted in a higher rate of Code 1 Birds during the training.  The strategic nature of our win was the placement of seasoned Dawgs manning the operational command, and the younger Apprentices in true support roles, keeping our unit in a constant state of movement - our Birds flew flawlessly 24/7 to exceed the Mission Goals.

The training we went through was specific, it was strategic, and it was combat.  To suggest that the training has become stagnant in the 20 years since I served is insulting.  What is difficult to deal with is this same disrespect to the Military’s training program feeds into the lack of women rising to the ranks necessary to hold a voice on the War Council.  The council from a battle seasoned multi-star General is taken far more seriously than that of a well trained Colonel who has never been allowed to join combat.  A Male President wants a Male War Council, never mind the fact that in order to attain the necessary rank & experience, women are prohibited from even trying.  It is a double edged sword of discrimination, both procedurally and psychologically.  Those women who are in leadership roles are buried behind bureaucracy and their efforts are intentionally kept silent by the main stream media.

Women have proven themselves in combat first in 1991 (Army Captain Karen Emma Walden) then in 2003 in Iraq (Jessica Dawn Lynch) and they continue to serve in Afghanistan.  The US Military has proven they are capable of training excellent female combat soldiers in every branch.  The only real reason to bring the long closed debate of Women in Combat is to re-address Sharia Law in the Middle East.  If we engage Lybia and we honor the treasonous agreements we made to keep US Women in Uniform out of the region, we go in with only 80% of our troops.  Women will be left at home, far from the battle.  Bringing the topic to the table and politicizing Women Soldiers only serves to provide our enemy with the information on our overall strength while deployed away from home.

There is a plus side to the suggestion of women registering for Selective Service, and that is opportunity.  The requirement would open doors within US Social Programs to young women graduating high school that they otherwise would not be exposed.  The very idea of serving 4 years in exchange for education has the potential to change that woman’s life forever.

Women registering for Selective Service will only lead to future generations preserving the freedoms of the US Constitution and instill the pride of Military Service.  After more than 200 years, our nation has an unspoken pride “My son is in the Army”.  The sentiment evokes “because only American Women raise American Soldiers”.  But what happens when those same American Women raise female soldiers?  Soldiers who then raise more American Soldiers, a Woman who understands the importance of Hunting for sport to train her daughter how to take down a 12-point buck.  A woman who understands how sacred American Freedom truly is and the importance of the discipline needed to defend that freedom at all costs.

Take a moment and reflect on how deadly Jessica Lynch’s sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters will be.  They will have been raised by a Woman who served her Nation in Combat, a Warrior and a Soldier.  There are thousands of women in the Military who are dedicated to protecting Freedom, defending the US Constitution, and have given up their rights as US Citizens to live and work under the UCMJ for the sole purpose of demonstrating their Loyalty to their Nation.  What force can overcome the loyalty of Hearth and Home?

http://www.womensmemorial.org/Education/timeline.html

Slapping the Other Cheek - Maureen Dowd 11/14/2004

Slapping the Other Cheek

November 14, 2004
By MAUREEN DOWD

You'd think the one good thing about merging church and state would be that politics would be suffused with glistening Christian sentiments like "love thy neighbor," "turn the other cheek," "good will toward men," "blessed be the peacemakers" and "judge not lest you be judged."

Yet somehow I'm not getting a peace, charity, tolerance and forgiveness vibe from the conservatives and evangelicals who claim to have put their prodigal son back in office.

I'm getting more the feel of a vengeful mob - revved up by rectitude - running around with torches and hatchets after heathens and pagans and infidels.

Full Story

I hope after reading this article, you understand what it is YOU have to do in order to maintain your Civil Liberties.

No matter how much you deny it, a Crusade was launched on September 11, 2001. The Muslims attacked the Christians and the Christians retaliated with the force of 10,000 Orks.  Three years later and the Crusades are well under way in what can only be a called a success by the standards set by the Media and the Liberal Pagans.

Now the Conservative Christians in the US Government want to turn their power on to the American People.  One God, One Religion, One Dogma, especially at the destruction of all other Gods, Religions, Dogmas.

The American People have 4 years to contribute to the Crusades against the Liberal Pagans. The men who founded this Nation made sure that the People would have a say in how the government would be run. Four years is a very short time to get a nation which has settled into complacency and apathy, mobilized around a core set of issues and into the Polls.

I've come to the realization that 100% of the voting population, whether their vote was counted or not, spoke up on November 2 and said firmly "You have 4 Years to Represent Me or else." Liberal Pagans told their Representatives and their President they want results, they want representation. The Voter turn out spoke volumes about the resolve of both Liberals and Conservatives.

The Founders didn't give the People too much time to mobilize, but just enough. They knew this time would come, and they put in place mechanisms to slow its pace to a crawl, if not stop it all together.

The beauty of the mechanisms is that they are so simple. All we as a nation have to do is vote. The 2004 Elections are a clear indication that the Government was caught off guard by the sheer number of Citizens who showed up to vote, and the Government Representives were certainly surprised by the number of Constituents who made their voices heard on Election Day.

My Moral Issues are driven by the same stimulus as my Conservative Peers: Faith. My Grandparents came to this country for that very reason. Their dream was to live in a Country where they were truly free to live as they wished, without starvation, forced religion, and poverty for any who did not conform (or Confirm as the Irish Catholics would say).

When I look at our Democracy, I can’t help but compare the ideals and “dogma” of Democracy with those outlined in the Holy Bible. I only see contradictions, separations, constriction and disproportion.

There can only be two choices in the matter: allow the Majority (Conservatives) to mold the Constitution to conform to biblical normalcy, or stand firm in the convictions of Democracy and stand firmly for a compromise between Liberal and Conservative views of our Government.

We have four years. The next Election will determine far more than our next President.

Last Drag

In the beginning I was confined to the small corner liquor stores, the ones that only sell candy and beer. I wore sunglasses at first, to hide the fact that I was underage, but the dark lenses only magnified the dimness of the store and caused me to lurch awkwardly to the counter, looking even more like a gangly teenager than I already was. This was the eighty's, and the world hadn't quite awoken to the dangers of teen smoking. But this was a small corner neighborhood liquor store, and the parents in this particular neighborhood definitely did not approve of their kids smoking anything, period. Needless to say, on the first attempt I shuffled out of the store, not with the intended cigarettes, but with a pack of Hubba Bubba and a Three Musketeers candy bar.


For the next two weeks, I rigorously memorized the brand of cigarettes my father kept on the highest shelf of the pantry along with the Ding Dongs and M&M's he thought were hidden from the rest of us. Late at night, long after my brother silenced the bleeping of his Atari; long after the nesting sounds quieted from my step-monster's lair; and when the smoldering butt from the last cigarette my father enjoyed while patrolling the vast perimeter of the empty living room finally burned down to ash, I tip-toed into the pantry to peek at the forbidden package. During the long hot summer days while my father mysteriously tinkered with networks and hubs and connectors on his computer; while my step-monster did whatever dragons do in the light of day; and while my brother set up and demolished yet another platoon of G.I. Joes, I studied the traits of tobacco.


I practiced in front of the bathroom mirror repeating the phrase over and over until the words danced out of my mouth like a troupe of prima ballerinas.


"Hello, (smile nonchalantly), may I have a pack of Benson and Hedges Lights One Hundreds (make and hold direct eye contact)?"


And then I was ready for my initiation into the Secret Club.


It was amazing. The clerk behind the counter never gave me a second glance as he dropped the little cellophane wrapped package on the counter in front of me. With out ceremony or civility he took my money. I walked out of the store with the coveted cigarettes, feeling like I had just gotten away with murder and no one cared. I don't know what I was expecting. It seemed like after all my hard work and practice there should have been more heraldry. I kept waiting for the official Club Board of Directors to send me a welcome gift, maybe a membership card. But there was nothing. Just like that, I officially joined the ranks of sultry women and sex goddesses.


Twenty years ago, I joined a secret club I thought was sophisticated and worldly. The club was the Smoker's Club, and it was secret because I was only fifteen. the rules of this exclusive club were stringent. For instance, you had to know the difference between light, 100, and 120 cigarettes. You had to know the difference between menthol cigarettes and non-menthol cigarettes. You had to know which brands were domestic and which were foreign. You had to know what a French inhale was. Pinkie Tuscadero did it in "Grease", and some of the bad girls in school knew how. But they would never teach you. No one could teach you. You were expected to learn the language of tobacco on your own and in secret. You were expected to learn that it was encouraged, even necessary, to experiment with the various flavors and lengths and styles and tar levels and filters and manufacturers and brands. It took me three years to learn the complicated characteristics of cigarettes.


When I reach the age of eighteen, the legal age to purchase cigarettes in California, I unceremoniously passed from the Secret Club into the Smoker's Club. This meant I could purchase cigarettes wherever and whenever I wanted. I could smoke in public and no one would chastise me. But it also meant an end to the clandestine missions to the corner liquor store, and end to the risk. The intrigue and mystery of the Secret Club is replaced with ritual and routine. Where I previously found excitement in the successful purchase of a pack of cigarettes, I now find pleasure in removing the cellophane without tearing the box or crushing the cigarettes. The alcove behind the church where I hid from Father What A Waste is replaced with the public smoking area in front of every office building in Downtown Los Angeles. The scratch of the match is replaced with the flick of the bic.


Fifteen days ago I relinquished my membership to the Smoker's Club. I didn't mean to do it. Ii was, quite literally, forced against my will. It seems that I was asthmatic as a child, and the effects of 15 years of erratic smoking has taken its toll on my body. So now, instead of sucking on tobacco, I suck on Proventil. Instead of flicking a bic, I flip open bottle after bottle of this pill and that pill. I can tell you it wasn't easy to stop smoking. Even now as I write this I sneak a drag here and there of a stale Virginia Slim Menthol that I found at the back of the freezer. The doctors and lawyers are seriously misguided when they say that it's the nicotine the addicted smoker has to kick. Wrong. Kicking the mourning ritual of coffee and a cigarette makes marching in Sister Mary Elephant's Communion Procession feel like a walk in the park, I can do it with my eyes closed. But nothing can compare to the unique scent of fresh ground coffee mingled with the acrid smell of a freshly lit cigarette.


The ritual begins with the innocent initiation into the Secret Smokers Club. Every time I purchased a pack of cigarettes, I am reminded of the rush of adrenaline I felt the first time I walked out of the candy store with an actual pack of cigarettes. Each unlit cigarette represents the first one I ever held between my fingers. I've lost count of how many delicately rolled sticks I broke between my spindly teenage fingers. Every time I put a fresh filter to my lips, I am reminded of tobacco's first kiss and the tantalizing thrill of getting caught by the step-monster.


Yes, yes, smoking is bad. It's a filthy habit. It's dirty. It can kill you. But, oh, the possibilities. Imagine a man at a table. alone. Smoking a cigarette. He hears the clicking of heels approach and suddenly - stop. And then a husky female, come-hither voice says,


"Excuse me, do you have a light?"


The possibilities are endless. Isn't that why I started smoking in the first place? I wanted maturity, sophistication, and sex. I wanted the same possibilities of romance Greta Garbo had as the cigarette smoke floated between her face and the handsome stranger across the table. I wanted the same thrill of intrigue James Bond commanded as he lit a cigarette and said "Shaken, not stirred." Men wanted to be the Marlboro Man and women wanted to be with those men.


What I got was yellow teeth, jaundiced skin, and a Pavlovian response the flick-flick-flicking of a lighter. By the way, do you have a cigarette?

The “F” Word

The point I am trying to make is that words are a mysterious, ambiguous, ambivalent and perfidious phenomenon. They are capable of being rays of light in a realm of darkness. … They are equally capable of being lethal arrows. Worst of all, at times they can be one and the other. And even both at once. 
-Vaclav Havel, "Words on Words," 1990

 
 

Here's an experiment with words you might try the next time you find yourself in a crowded, public area, say Starbuck's in the morning rush hour, or in front of any middle school in America at 8am: clear your throat, and without yelling like a fanatic, say the "F" word firmly and distinctly,

"FEMINISM."

Most of the women in the crowd will simply pretend they didn't hear you. You'll know they are pretending because they all suddenly become very uncomfortable, shifting their weight from one foot to another…repeatedly. One or two of the women in front of the middle school will not hide their displeasure at your outburst by throwing you cool, disapproving glances as they rush off to their corner office. The other women will pick up their Venti, no foam, non-fat latte and quickly get themselves the hell away from you as fast as their Ferragamo pumps will carry them.

Feminism is a word that was once a "ray of light in a realm of darkness" but over the past fifteen or so years, it has metamorphosed from a beautiful butterfly into a slimy hairy caterpillar.

The average person believes that feminism was born in the late 1960's and early 1970's. The fact of the matter is, an economic change swept Across America at precisely the same time as the feminist movement was taking shape. The change in economy forced men to admit that they could not support their family without a second wage earner, and forced women, whether they wanted to or not, into the work force. By the late 60's and early 70's, wage labor was becoming just as important to women as it was to men. And with the no-fault divorce laws forcing women to support themselves, and quite frequently their children, without the reliable financial support of a husband, young single women faced the grim reality that they could no longer look forward to a secure marriage as their mothers and grandmothers had done before them. The feminist movement told women they didn't need to depend on a man, they didn't need to wear make-up or "to swaddle [their body] and to drape it until it conformed as closely as possible to the image du jour. "(Rose L. Glickman, Daughters of Feminists, 1993 page 88) The definition of feminism twenty-five years ago was easily painted on a poster's sign and marched down Main street of Any town: "Equal Pay For Equal Work," "Sexual Freedom," "Reproductive Freedom." There also seemed to be more tolerance for the feminist movement in the early 70's. After all, how could anyone blame a woman, who was forced to work because of a divorce or death of her husband, for being angry that she was paid a "mere fifty-nine cents to every dollar a man made for the exact same work!?" (Elizabeth Fox-Genovese, Feminism is NOT the Story of My Life, 1996 page 116) the feminist movement forced people, specifically white males to reconsider the traditional role of a woman. In 1976, you could stand in a crowded public area, say the "F" word and find both men and women look at you thoughtfully and nod their heads. The word and the movement were "ray of light" and they were definitely something to think about.

But in the 1990's, something happened to feminism – something bad. The word became foul, and the movement was perceived to be fanatical. Women's organizations, which sprouted up all over the country in the early 1970's, like the National Organization for Women (NOW) and the National Abortion Rights Action League (NARAL), were no longer speaking of the issues women cared about. They were lumped together in one heap, and referred to, as one student put it, the "NOW crows." Feminism was so successful in bringing about equal rights for women in the late 60's and early 70's, that in 1990 they had nothing left to fight for. Feminism helped women to realize equal pay. Women at executive levels of management are paid ninety-five cents for every dollar men are paid, and a woman in an entry-level position "is likely to earn the same as her male peers." (Elizabeth Fox-Genovese, page 117) Feminism helped crush the stigma attached to premarital sex, opening the door for women's sexual freedom. It paved the way for women's right to reproductive freedom and a woman's right to a safe abortion. The organizations such as NOW and NARAL began to focus on issues that didn't affect women in significant ways. Feminism applauded professional young women, and all but ignored the problems of the young single mother. The 1991 NOW convention held only one session on children, and it focused on lesbian mothers. (Elizabeth Fox-Genovese) It had become clear to women that they had no place in modern feminism if they chose a heterosexual relationship in which to raise a family and have a meaningful career. By excluding these working mothers, both married and single, the feminist movement inadvertently gave birth to the very entity that would be its undermining in the 1990's: the "Super Mom."

For many young women entering the labor force in the early 1990's, feminism equals "super mom" or "workaholic." These young women were raised by super moms who "never felt any guilt about pursuing a high powered career while raising two youngsters." (Joan S. Lublin, "Some Adult Daughters of Super Moms' Plan to Take Another Path", The Wall Street Journal, December 28, 1995, Sec A, p1) These mother's entered the labor force during the early days of the women's movement, and they were determined to "have it all," they were workingwomen reaping the rewards of the feminist movement. According to Joann S. Lublin, young women today are very resentful that they were raised by "absentee" mothers and find themselves asking, "How can I ever live up to my fast-track mother?" But more importantly they are asking themselves, "is it worth it?" More and more women are "trying to find ways to juggle the demands of work and family, and … don't want to emulate their workaholic [mothers]." (Joanne S. Lublin) It's almost as if women have replaced the struggle to find equality with the struggle to find balance.

Young women, and I mean women like myself between the ages of 18 and 40, don't have to fight for equality with men the way our mothers did. When we entered the world, we were handed equality on a silver platter. We buy homes and cars like our mothers bought groceries, we hold gold and platinum credit cards, something our mothers never did, and we get paychecks just like our fathers. Instead of planning dinner, we plan our careers. We don't think about how a child will affect our marriages, we think about ways we can fit a child and a marriage and a career in our lives. We don't spend any time thinking about equality, in fact, we expect equality and are taken completely by surprise when we don't get it. But, isn't that what our feminist "have it all" super moms wanted for us? Wasn't their goal that one day an American woman would take for granted the same rights white men had never given a second thought to since the signing of the Declaration of Independence?

Feminism has come to mean a variety of things to a variety of people. Some equate feminism with lesbianism, "a metaphor for man-hating and male-bashing, for fanaticism, for separatism." (Rose L. Glickman) For other men, and women, the word has a "frightening connotation" meaning that a woman is "righteous, …independent, …and powerful." A feminist to these men and women is a "person with an opinion, but …a bitch." (Glickman) And let's face it; nobody wants to be a bitch, a man-hater, or a fanatic. "These words, like the word feminist, alienate men." (Glickman) Young women today want their equality, but they also want the human connection, a husband, a family, and that connection cannot be obtained by alienating men. I agree with Glickman when she says that the word feminism belongs to a bygone era. And I think most women would agree with me. As Joann S. Lublin reported, young women are looking for a way to "have it all" without sacrificing their children, husbands or their careers. Employers, such as the Bank of Montreal, and Motorola have successfully redefined "family" as a "life outside of work," permanently dispelling the super mom or mommy track stigma, allowing women to "have it all sacrificing all. (Sue Shellanbarger, Wall Street Journal, December 20, 1995, Sec B p1) We have finally won the battle our mothers started thirty years ago. We are enjoying the same rights men have enjoyed for two centuries.

If you ask any woman today if she is a feminist, the most common answer would be "Yes, but…" It's the 'but' that screams for attention. The fact that women, myself included, feel the need to qualify their definition of feminism is the telltale sign that we need a new word for what people today view as feminist. Both Rose Glickman and Elizabeth Fox-Genovese set out to give a new definition to the word feminism. Glickman found a young woman, a daughter of a feminist, who put it nicely, "feminism is about thoughtfulness, sensitivity, concern with human liberation and a sense of social responsibility." Fox-Genovese set out to define a different kind of feminism, "family feminism." She defines family feminism as all women, working-class and professionals, single and married mothers, of all races, religions and orientations all struggling to live independently and have families. The feminist movement lost sight of these women, and now, these women have no one to identify with. The largest women's organization, NOW, has no place for the professional woman and the working mother who is economically successful because they downplay the very reason for her success: she is part of a two-income marriage or union. Fox-Genovese went so far as to suggest that some women blame the feminist elite for the disintegration of the family by encouraging single-motherhood. Statistics have shown that the average single-parent family, headed by a woman, lives at or below the poverty line, something the feminist movement rarely, if ever, talks about. If the feminist movement isn't talking to the married women with or without children, and it isn't identifying with single-mothers, whom is it talking to? I think it's very possible that the anger and resentment some people are feeling towards the feminist movement today is due to the fact that both men and women are alienated from the movement in the very way they live their lives. While Glickman and Fox-Genovese have both done a wonderful job in attempting to re-define feminism, we are still stuck with the lethal arrow. That word!

In 1963, Betty Friedan wrote Feminine Mystique. She titled chapter one, "The Problem That Has No Name." In it she describes women's dissatisfaction with their lives. They were told they should be happy that they were women, and didn't have to worry about feeding a family or deal with the stress that came with holding down a job. But the "problem" persisted, and what made it unbearable for women was that no one was talking about it. It seems to me that we are right back were we started; we have a problem with no name. Today, no one talks about a single mother whose checking account is overdrawn because her minimum wage job can't support the rent and groceries for three small children. Instead we talk about "the working poor" and suggest tax breaks that amount to one extra can of Diet Coke per year and tell each other we are helping "the working poor." No one talks about the young professional woman who has no choice but to listen to crude jokes told by her male co-workers. No one mentions the working mother who works sixty hours a week in Corporate America, and puts in an extra twenty-five over time hours a week to feed and clothe her husband and children. Instead we enforce labor laws impossible to enforce, and attempt to legislate common decency through required training and call it "Sensitivity Training" which only serves to further alienate her male co-workers.

The entire topic of reproductive freedom engulfs so many aspects of a woman's life that it is comical that the feminist's movement as it stands today, is continuing the never-ending battle of a woman's right to choose right into the Twenty-First Century. And yet we allow our politicians to focus on abortion, instead of demanding that they hear us when we say that a woman's right to choose means making the decision to conceive, carry, deliver and raise a child be ours alone to make. That our decision to have a child be just as protected as our decision to terminate a pregnancy. That our decision to raise that child with a partner regardless of the nature of the relationship. While the feminist movement focuses their attention of the right to choose to terminate a pregnancy, the issue of preserving fertility is completely lost. But quite frankly, that is an entirely different discussion.

Women today are just as dissatisfied as the women Friedan describes in her book. Friedan's women found a solution and a name for their problem – they called it "emancipation," "women's lib," and eventually named it "feminism." Women today have no name for their problem. I heard someone say we should call it "Equalism." I think "Equalism" has a nice ring to it. It's a nice word, for not really being a word. And besides, who could possibly be frightened by equality?

Somehow, I think that no matter what word we come up with, it will be both a ray of light and a lethal arrow. It is the nature of words.

February 1997

Election Maps - 2005

I have been fascinated with the Civil War Society since I read Margaret Murray's "Gone with the Wind" the Summer I spent lounging at the side of the pool between 8th and 9th Grade. I hadn't discovered the thrill of making out in the back seat of a parked car yet; boys were still my adversaries, my opponents and my fiercest competitors.

It's interesting to read historical fiction through the eyes of Society Women, rather than from the POV of the Political Scientist. Let's face it, to the victors do the spoils of war go, and one of those spoils is the control of History. Women, however, have Family Histories, and for them, it doesn't matter who signed what treaty, what matters is what happened to their family and how.

I am a huge Tori Amos fan, and her Album concept, "Scarlet's Walk" takes you through the US through the eyes of a woman. All of the fascination with society in the Pre-Civil War era came flooding back. This website of the maps has only compounded it. I began looking at society after the war.

The Summer I spent between 11th and 12th grades working at an Amusement Park, fooling around with the cute boyfriend at the Pool house, whose mother was Iriquoi and one of the most amazing women from my childhood, I became fascinated with the Pre Indian Wars Society.

I realized many years ago the subtle connection between the two post-war Societies and was amazed. In each situation, the United States was expanding it’s territories. The other similarity I saw was the idea that the Underground Slave Trains assisting Runaway Slaves in Pre-Civil War Society, were very close to or in some rare cases actually follow the same paths used by the US Government to march the First Nation Tribes onto Reservations.

My first thought when I saw the maps was “Freedom for me but not for You.”

My second thought was “This is what Iraq will look like in 50 years”.

Am I supposed to feel lucky that I live in California? A Blue State?

But then we can’t forget the Mexican-American War. That time the US let the Catholic Church fight the battle, after all the US had already spent millions “relocating” the First Nations, this business of conquering was getting expensive. And let’s face it, the Catholics did those Missions up right. Besides, the Gold Rush was well underway in California and there was enough to share with the Catholics for “housing” those pesky Mexicans, the Tongas and any other “Savages” left roaming the Golden foothills of California.

The US has never dealt well with it's conquests, and examining the Post War Societies in the US after the Indian Wars, the Mexican War and the Civil War the History of the US appears violent, hostile and oppressive.

I said in my last essay that I was disappointed and saddened that I am considered a Radical Liberal simply because I believe in the philosophies of a Democracy. These maps and looking at the collective Histories of each of the Red States, I am even more shocked.

It's been nearly 160 years since a cease fire was declared in the Mexican War, and despite holding nearly 46% of the demographic population in the Southwest, Mexican Americans are continuing to live in Poverty.

It's been nerly 140 years since end of the Civil War, and African Americans continue to fight for their Voice in the American Democracy. Racial Profiling against Black Americans is probably the most overt act of oppression the US Government perpetrates against any one race within its citizenry.

It's been nearly 115 years since the last Indian War was fought, and the vanquished First Nations are still suffering. No amount of Tribal Contracts or Gaming Casinos can reverse the desimation of language, arts, culture and spirituality of the Native Society.

The common thread here? None of the above people's mentioned are White.

"Freedom for Me but not for You"

The ideals behind the histories of the “Red” states are certainly not democratic. They deal in oppression and tyranny and violence against another human being. The maps have made me take a close look at where I stand in society, and reflect on how my “Moral Values” compare with the “Red” States.

Can I find a compromise between their values and mine? Maybe, in some cases. However, when the issues are placed in a cauldron and rendered down, I keep coming back to God, Guns and Gays. And I can only find a compromise in one: Guns.

If I am labeled a Radical Liberal for my “Moral Values”, then I would have to turn the mirror around and label my Peers in the Red States Radical Conservatives. I believe that history has proven throughout the millennia that when it comes to Democracy & Freedom, a Radical Liberal is preferable to a Society driven by Fear and Oppression.

Reference Links:

US-Indian Wars Named Campaigns:

http://www.army.mil/cmh-pg/reference/iwcmp.htm

Trail of Tears Map with named States:

http://ngeorgia.com/history/trailoftearsmap.html

See pictures and compare!! (Thanks to Yunique over at African American Wiccans http://groups.yahoo.com/group/African-American_Wiccans/ for the Map links)

http://www.learner.org/biographyofamerica/prog10/maps/

http://election.cbsnews.com/election2004/

To compare the maps next to each other see this link:

http://sensoryoverload.typepad.com/sensory_overload/2004/11/free_states_vs_.html

Indian Wars

1790 – 1891

Us-Mexican War

1846-1848

California Gold Rush

1848-1853

Civil War

1861-1865

The F Word

The F Word

The point I am trying to make is that words are a mysterious, ambiguous, ambivalent and perfidious phenomenon. They are capable of being rays of light in a realm of darkness. … They are equally capable of being lethal arrows. Worst of all, at times they can be one and the other. And even both at once.
-Vaclav Havel, “Words on Words,” 1990

Here’s an experiment with words you might try the next time you find yourself in a crowded, public area, say Starbuck’s in the morning rush hour, or in front of any middle school in America at 8am: clear your throat, and without yelling like a fanatic, say the “F” word firmly and distinctly,

“FEMINISM.”

Most of the women in the crowd will simply pretend they didn’t hear you. You’ll know they are pretending because they all suddenly become very uncomfortable, shifting their weight from one foot to another…repeatedly. One or two of the women in front of the middle school will not hide their displeasure at your outburst by throwing you cool, disapproving glances as they rush off to their corner office. The other women will pick up their Venti, no foam, non-fat latte and quickly get themselves the hell away from you as fast as their Ferragamo pumps will carry them.

Feminism is a word that was once a “ray of light in a realm of darkness” but over the past fifteen or so years, it has metamorphosed from a beautiful butterfly into a slimy hairy caterpillar.

The average person believes that feminism was born in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. The fact of the matter is, an economic change swept Across America at precisely the same time as the feminist movement was taking shape. The change in economy forced men to admit that they could not support their family without a second wage earner, and forced women, whether they wanted to or not, into the work force. By the late 60’s and early 70’s, wage labor was becoming just as important to women as it was to men. And with the no-fault divorce laws forcing women to support themselves, and quite frequently their children, without the reliable financial support of a husband, young single women faced the grim reality that they could no longer look forward to a secure marriage as their mothers and grandmothers had done before them. The feminist movement told women they didn’t need to depend on a man, they didn’t need to wear make-up or “to swaddle [their body] and to drape it until it conformed as closely as possible to the image du jour. “(Rose L. Glickman, Daughters of Feminists, 1993 page 88) The definition of feminism twenty-five years ago was easily painted on a poster’s sign and marched down Main street of Any town: “Equal Pay For Equal Work,” “Sexual Freedom,” “Reproductive Freedom.” There also seemed to be more tolerance for the feminist movement in the early 70’s. After all, how could anyone blame a woman, who was forced to work because of a divorce or death of her husband, for being angry that she was paid a “mere fifty-nine cents to every dollar a man made for the exact same work!?” (Elizabeth Fox-Genovese, Feminism is NOT the Story of My Life, 1996 page 116) the feminist movement forced people, specifically white males to reconsider the traditional role of a woman. In 1976, you could stand in a crowded public area, say the “F” word and find both men and women look at you thoughtfully and nod their heads. The word and the movement were “ray of light” and they were definitely something to think about.

But in the 1990’s, something happened to feminism – something bad. The word became foul, and the movement was perceived to be fanatical. Women’s organizations, which sprouted up all over the country in the early 1970’s, like the National Organization for Women (NOW) and the National Abortion Rights Action League (NARAL), were no longer speaking of the issues women cared about. They were lumped together in one heap, and referred to, as one student put it, the “NOW crows.” Feminism was so successful in bringing about equal rights for women in the late 60’s and early 70’s, that in 1990 they had nothing left to fight for. Feminism helped women to realize equal pay. Women at executive levels of management are paid ninety-five cents for every dollar men are paid, and a woman in an entry-level position “is likely to earn the same as her male peers.” (Elizabeth Fox-Genovese, page 117) Feminism helped crush the stigma attached to premarital sex, opening the door for women’s sexual freedom. It paved the way for women’s right to reproductive freedom and a woman’s right to a safe abortion. The organizations such as NOW and NARAL began to focus on issues that didn’t affect women in significant ways. Feminism applauded professional young women, and all but ignored the problems of the young single mother. The 1991 NOW convention held only one session on children, and it focused on lesbian mothers. (Elizabeth Fox-Genovese) It had become clear to women that they had no place in modern feminism if they chose a heterosexual relationship in which to raise a family and have a meaningful career. By excluding these working mothers, both married and single, the feminist movement inadvertently gave birth to the very entity that would be its undermining in the 1990’s: the “Super Mom.”

For many young women entering the labor force in the early 1990’s, feminism equals “super mom” or “workaholic.” These young women were raised by super moms who “never felt any guilt about pursuing a high powered career while raising two youngsters.” (Joan S. Lublin, “Some Adult Daughters of Super Moms’ Plan to Take Another Path”, The Wall Street Journal, December 28, 1995, Sec A, p1) These mother’s entered the labor force during the early days of the women’s movement, and they were determined to “have it all,” they were workingwomen reaping the rewards of the feminist movement. According to Joann S. Lublin, young women today are very resentful that they were raised by “absentee” mothers and find themselves asking, “How can I ever live up to my fast-track mother?” But more importantly they are asking themselves, “is it worth it?” More and more women are “trying to find ways to juggle the demands of work and family, and … don’t want to emulate their workaholic [mothers].” (Joanne S. Lublin) It’s almost as if women have replaced the struggle to find equality with the struggle to find balance.

Young women, and I mean women like myself between the ages of 18 and 40, don’t have to fight for equality with men the way our mothers did. When we entered the world, we were handed equality on a silver platter. We buy homes and cars like our mothers bought groceries, we hold gold and platinum credit cards, something our mothers never did, and we get paychecks just like our fathers. Instead of planning dinner, we plan our careers. We don’t think about how a child will affect our marriages, we think about ways we can fit a child and a marriage and a career in our lives. We don’t spend any time thinking about equality, in fact, we expect equality and are taken completely by surprise when we don’t get it. But, isn’t that what our feminist “have it all” super moms wanted for us? Wasn’t their goal that one day an American woman would take for granted the same rights white men had never given a second thought to since the signing of the Declaration of Independence?

Feminism has come to mean a variety of things to a variety of people. Some equate feminism with lesbianism, “a metaphor for man-hating and male-bashing, for fanaticism, for separatism.” (Rose L. Glickman) For other men, and women, the word has a “frightening connotation” meaning that a woman is “righteous, …independent, …and powerful.” A feminist to these men and women is a “person with an opinion, but …a bitch.” (Glickman) And let’s face it; nobody wants to be a bitch, a man-hater, or a fanatic. “These words, like the word feminist, alienate men.” (Glickman) Young women today want their equality, but they also want the human connection, a husband, a family, and that connection cannot be obtained by alienating men. I agree with Glickman when she says that the word feminism belongs to a bygone era. And I think most women would agree with me. As Joann S. Lublin reported, young women are looking for a way to “have it all” without sacrificing their children, husbands or their careers. Employers, such as the Bank of Montreal, and Motorola have successfully redefined “family” as a “life outside of work,” permanently dispelling the super mom or mommy track stigma, allowing women to “have it all sacrificing all. (Sue Shellanbarger, Wall Street Journal, December 20, 1995, Sec B p1) We have finally won the battle our mothers started thirty years ago. We are enjoying the same rights men have enjoyed for two centuries.

If you ask any woman today if she is a feminist, the most common answer would be “Yes, but…” It’s the ‘but’ that screams for attention. The fact that women, myself included, feel the need to qualify their definition of feminism is the telltale sign that we need a new word for what people today view as feminist. Both Rose Glickman and Elizabeth Fox-Genovese set out to give a new definition to the word feminism. Glickman found a young woman, a daughter of a feminist, who put it nicely, “feminism is about thoughtfulness, sensitivity, concern with human liberation and a sense of social responsibility.” Fox-Genovese set out to define a different kind of feminism, “family feminism.” She defines family feminism as all women, working-class and professionals, single and married mothers, of all races, religions and orientations all struggling to live independently and have families. The feminist movement lost sight of these women, and now, these women have no one to identify with. The largest women’s organization, NOW, has no place for the professional woman and the working mother who is economically successful because they downplay the very reason for her success: she is part of a two-income marriage or union. Fox-Genovese went so far as to suggest that some women blame the feminist elite for the disintegration of the family by encouraging single-motherhood. Statistics have shown that the average single-parent family, headed by a woman, lives at or below the poverty line, something the feminist movement rarely, if ever, talks about. If the feminist movement isn’t talking to the married women with or without children, and it isn’t identifying with single-mothers, whom is it talking to? I think it’s very possible that the anger and resentment some people are feeling towards the feminist movement today is due to the fact that both men and women are alienated from the movement in the very way they live their lives. While Glickman and Fox-Genovese have both done a wonderful job in attempting to re-define feminism, we are still stuck with the lethal arrow. That word!

In 1963, Betty Friedan wrote Feminine Mystique. She titled chapter one, “The Problem That Has No Name.” In it she describes women’s dissatisfaction with their lives. They were told they should be happy that they were women, and didn’t have to worry about feeding a family or deal with the stress that came with holding down a job. But the “problem” persisted, and what made it unbearable for women was that no one was talking about it. It seems to me that we are right back were we started; we have a problem with no name. Today, no one talks about a single mother whose checking account is overdrawn because her minimum wage job can’t support the rent and groceries for three small children. Instead we talk about “the working poor” and suggest tax breaks that amount to one extra can of Diet Coke per year and tell each other we are helping “the working poor.” No one talks about the young professional woman who has no choice but to listen to crude jokes told by her male co-workers. No one mentions the working mother who works sixty hours a week in Corporate America, and puts in an extra twenty-five over time hours a week to feed and clothe her husband and children. Instead we enforce labor laws impossible to enforce, and attempt to legislate common decency through required training and call it “Sensitivity Training” which only serves to further alienate her male co-workers.

The entire topic of reproductive freedom engulfs so many aspects of a woman’s life that it is comical that the feminist’s movement as it stands today, is continuing the never-ending battle of a woman’s right to choose right into the Twenty-First Century. And yet we allow our politicians to focus on abortion, instead of demanding that they hear us when we say that a woman’s right to choose means making the decision to conceive, carry, deliver and raise a child be ours alone to make. That our decision to have a child be just as protected as our decision to terminate a pregnancy. That our decision to raise that child with a partner regardless of the nature of the relationship. While the feminist movement focuses their attention of the right to choose to terminate a pregnancy, the issue of preserving fertility is completely lost. But quite frankly, that is an entirely different discussion.

Women today are just as dissatisfied as the women Friedan describes in her book. Friedan’s women found a solution and a name for their problem – they called it “emancipation,” “women’s lib,” and eventually named it “feminism.” Women today have no name for their problem. I heard someone say we should call it “Equalism.” I think “Equalism” has a nice ring to it. It’s a nice word, for not really being a word. And besides, who could possibly be frightened by equality?

Somehow, I think that no matter what word we come up with, it will be both a ray of light and a lethal arrow. It is the nature of words.

Last Drag

Last Drag

In the beginning I was confined to the small corner liquor stores, the ones that only sell candy and beer. I wore sunglasses at first, to hide the fact that I was underage, but the dark lenses only magnified the dimness of the store and caused me to lurch awkwardly to the counter, looking even more like a gangly teenager than I already was. This was the eighty's, and the world hadn't quite awoken to the dangers of teen smoking. But this was a small corner neighborhood liquor store, and the parents in this particular neighborhood definitely did not approve of their kids smoking anything, period. Needless to say, on the first attempt I shuffled out of the store, not with the intended cigarettes, but with a pack of Hubba Bubba and a Three Musketeers candy bar.

For the next two weeks, I rigorously memorized the brand of cigarettes my father kept on the highest shelf of the pantry along with the Ding Dongs and M&M's he thought were hidden from the rest of us. Late at night, long after my brother silenced the bleeping of his Atari; long after the nesting sounds quieted from my step-monster's lair; and when the smoldering butt from the last cigarette my father enjoyed while patrolling the vast perimeter of the empty living room finally burned down to ash, I tip-toed into the pantry to peek at the forbidden package. During the long hot summer days while my father mysteriously tinkered with networks and hubs and connectors on his computer; while my step-monster did whatever dragons do in the light of day; and while my brother set up and demolished yet another platoon of G.I. Joes, I studied the traits of tobacco.

I practiced in front of the bathroom mirror repeating the phrase over and over until the words danced out of my mouth like a troupe of prima ballerinas.

"Hello, (smile nonchalantly), may I have a pack of Benson and Hedges Lights One Hundreds (make and hold direct eye contact)?"

And then I was ready for my initiation into the Secret Club.

It was amazing. The clerk behind the counter never gave me a second glance as he dropped the little cellophane wrapped package on the counter in front of me. With out ceremony or civility he took my money. I walked out of the store with the coveted cigarettes, feeling like I had just gotten away with murder and no one cared. I don't know what I was expecting. It seemed like after all my hard work and practice there should have been more heraldry. I kept waiting for the official Club Board of Directors to send me a welcome gift, maybe a membership card. But there was nothing. Just like that, I officially joined the ranks of sultry women and sex goddesses.

Twenty years ago, I joined a secret club I thought was sophisticated and worldly. The club was the Smoker's Club, and it was secret because I was only fifteen. the rules of this exclusive club were stringent. For instance, you had to know the difference between light, 100, and 120 cigarettes. You had to know the difference between menthol cigarettes and non-menthol cigarettes. You had to know which brands were domestic and which were foreign. You had to know what a French inhale was. Pinkie Tuscadero did it in "Grease", and some of the bad girls in school knew how. But they would never teach you. No one could teach you. You were expected to learn the language of tobacco on your own and in secret. You were expected to learn that it was encouraged, even necessary, to experiment with the various flavors and lengths and styles and tar levels and filters and manufacturers and brands. It took me three years to learn the complicated characteristics of cigarettes.

When I reach the age of eighteen, the legal age to purchase cigarettes in California, I unceremoniously passed from the Secret Club into the Smoker's Club. This meant I could purchase cigarettes wherever and whenever I wanted. I could smoke in public and no one would chastise me. But it also meant an end to the clandestine missions to the corner liquor store, and end to the risk. The intrigue and mystery of the Secret Club is replaced with ritual and routine. Where I previously found excitement in the successful purchase of a pack of cigarettes, I now find pleasure in removing the cellophane without tearing the box or crushing the cigarettes. The alcove behind the church where I hid from Father What A Waste is replaced with the public smoking area in front of every office building in Downtown Los Angeles. The scratch of the match is replaced with the flick of the bic.

Fifteen days ago I relinquished my membership to the Smoker's Club. I didn't mean to do it. Ii was, quite literally, forced against my will. It seems that I was asthmatic as a child, and the effects of 15 years of erratic smoking has taken its toll on my body. So now, instead of sucking on tobacco, I suck on Proventil. Instead of flicking a bic, I flip open bottle after bottle of this pill and that pill. I can tell you it wasn't easy to stop smoking. Even now as I write this I sneak a drag here and there of a stale Virginia Slim Menthol that I found at the back of the freezer. The doctors and lawyers are seriously misguided when they say that it's the nicotine the addicted smoker has to kick. Wrong. Kicking the mourning ritual of coffee and a cigarette makes marching in Sister Mary Elephant's Communion Procession feel like a walk in the park, I can do it with my eyes closed. But nothing can compare to the unique scent of fresh ground coffee mingled with the acrid smell of a freshly lit cigarette.

The ritual begins with the innocent initiation into the Secret Smokers Club. Every time I purchased a pack of cigarettes, I am reminded of the rush of adrenaline I felt the first time I walked out of the candy store with an actual pack of cigarettes. Each unlit cigarette represents the first one I ever held between my fingers. I've lost count of how many delicately rolled sticks I broke between my spindly teenage fingers. Every time I put a fresh filter to my lips, I am reminded of tobacco's first kiss and the tantalizing thrill of getting caught by the step-monster.

Yes, yes, smoking is bad. It's a filthy habit. It's dirty. It can kill you. But, oh, the possibilities. Imagine a man at a table. alone. Smoking a cigarette. He hears the clicking of heels approach and suddenly - stop. And then a husky female, come-hither voice says,

"Excuse me, do you have a light?"

The possibilities are endless. Isn't that why I started smoking in the first place? I wanted maturity, sophistication, and sex. I wanted the same possibilities of romance Greta Garbo had as the cigarette smoke floated between her face and the handsome stranger across the table. I wanted the same thrill of intrigue James Bond commanded as he lit a cigarette and said "Shaken, not stirred." Men wanted to be the Marlboro Man and women wanted to be with those men.

What I got was yellow teeth, jaundiced skin, and a Pavlovian response the flick-flick-flicking of a lighter. By the way, do you have a cigarette?