I didn’t choose this fight.
This fight chose me the moment I was born and the doctor announced “It’s a girl!”
Trust me, my life would have been a lot easier, my voice less hoarse, my husband less harassed if the damn ERA had passed the first time and we were done with this shit, but it seems, yet again, we are not. Old dead Phyllis Schlafly must be dancing a merry jig in her grave this week.
So here we go. Again. And again.
And Jesus am I tired of this shit.
To the 53% of American white women who voted for our newest President-Elect, I don’t even need to know why. I’m not going to postulate or justify or try to understand. I don’t give a damn why.
I’m not going to lie, it stung. Bad. I had high hopes. Those hopes were dashed upon the rocks like so many sailors called by Sirens. This time the Siren call was muffled: a few more percentage points and it would have been easier to ignore. To you, that 53%? You many not think this fight is for you, you may not want it to be for you, but it is anyway.
You want to marry a rich guy and spend your days playing tennis? Go right ahead. I don’t care. You want to stay at home with your kids? Don’t care. You want to play Donna Reed and make gin and tonics and wait around with slippers and the paper? I DON’T CARE.
If you think feminists are out there trying to stop you from living a certain way, you’re mistaken. There is room within feminism for traditional female roles, for conservative female roles, because feminism has no walls. That’s the whole goddamn point of it.
Even though you don’t think I am on your side, even though sometimes it makes me vomit a little in my mouth to be on your side, even though you don’t want me on your side, I’m fighting for you anyway….because I am fighting for ALL OF US.
When I shouted and tweeted and declared I’m with her? It was all the HERS. It was you and her and that one over there. This fight is not just for me, it’s for all of us who got thrown into the ring when the doctor announced, ‘It’s a girl!”
To American women of color, I apologize. Profusely and profoundly. I apologize because a large portion of your white sisters threw you under the bus. Again. But even more, I apologize because unlike some of my white compatriots, you’re weren’t surprised. We threw you under the bus and we do it all the time. I feel like I got sucker punched in the solar plexus. I’m willing to bet that for you, that same punch was deflected, bounced off a callous built up of centuries of white women screwing you over. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I wouldn’t expect you to grant it.
I’m asking you to tell me how I can help.
To Millennial women: My hero Joss Whedon taught me that into every generation a slayer is born. Here’s the deal: You need to pull a final season Buffy. You need to invoke the potential of all the slayers because right now we don’t need a slayer, we need a whole generation of them. You need to sharpen your sticks and pierce the heart of this. Whether your stick is made of love or inclusion or righteousness, it doesn’t matter. It just needs to be sharp enough. Hone it. Carry it. Wield it. And if you haven’t watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer, go and watch it right this second.
I thought we would hand the baton to you with a little bit less work to do. It appears I was wrong. It would seem that despite everything, we’re giving you even more to do. So to you too, I apologize.
To the women of the world, this fight is for you too, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now. Right now we’ve got a code red in the U.S. that’s probably gone to take some time to sort out, but don’t be fooled, the fight there is the fight for you as well.
This isn’t a with us or against us thing, even though sometimes it feels like it. It’s not us vs. them. Even if you are against me, I’m still on your side. I’m still fighting for you. Even when it makes me vomit a little in my mouth. Even if the ghost of moldy old Phyllis Schlafly haunts me until I’m dead.
There is room for you. There is room for me. There’s room for all off us. There is so much room, you guys. I will do my damnedest to carve out that room. I may need to borrow a few slayer sticks, though.
To the women I know personally and in spirit who are out there fighting for women, fighting for equality, getting up every.single.time they are knocked down….
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
Look, I am but one of many. I am loud, but I need a bigger platform. I need a bigger audience. I can shout, but I need a megaphone. I can write, but I need you to share the words. The time has passed for thinking you can sit on the fence.
I can scream, but I need you all to help me amplify the battle cry.