So you have a problem with men?

Earlier this week, writer Tayari Jones posted a blogpost with the same title as this one over on the Kore Press blog, Persephone Speaks. In her essay, she speaks wondrously eloquently not only of the some of the conflicts that one encounters when one identifies as both a writer and a feminist, but of some of the conflicts one encounters when one identifies as as a writer, a feminist and a black woman. In fact, her topic, as illustrated with the example of Clinton vs. Obama, spins around the notion that "black women are pressured to decide if [they] are 'women' before [they] are 'black,'" She relates a story of sitting next to a black man on a plane who, upon her telling him that she's a writer and that, no, she does not write romance novels, he asked her this very question. (On a side note, is anyone else getting annoyed that we all (myself included, unless I catch myself and stop) constantly refer to the democratic race as one between Hillary and Obama? Given, I see the logic in calling her "Hillary" as opposed to "Clinton" so as to differentiate her from her husband in a shorthand sort of way. But dear lord. Haven't the media picked up on the notion that it's incredibly condescending to call a woman by her first name, especially when she is constantly being compared to a man-- who we all know primarily by his last name? ...and now, back on track!)

It occurs to me that I, too, am often asked this question and so I figured I'd better write about it. Often enough, I guess, it comes up in conversation with relative strangers and new acquaintances that I write this blog about gender issues and feminism and film and/or that I hope to go back to school for an interdisciplinary gender studies/critical film studies degree at some point in the near future. My confession that I write about sexuality and female-ness alone unfailingly prompts the question-- or some paraphrase of it. So, now, I kinda wonder why.

Shortly after reading Jones' post, I mentioned it to a friend of mine, saying that, yeah, guys ask me all the time if I like men when I say I write about gender issues. (Ironically, they hardly EVER asked the question during the 5 years in which I was in a monogamous relationship with a woman-- I dunno... maybe they could scent the hunger-for-cock on me then in a way that they can't now that the hunger is satisfied more often. Who knows?) My friend scoffed, saying something about how she didn't see how one so heterosexually charged as myself could ever be accused of man-hating. This particularly friend is one of the few women I know who professes a taste for sex with a frequency and an intensity that approaches my own predilections. So, I see why she scoffed. She was making the assumption that liking sex with men roughly equals actually liking men.

I, however, do not think these two things are analogous.

I would venture to say that there are few women who've had the pleasure of navigating the killing fields of the American dating scene who haven't spotted one of these not-rare-enough specimens that make my point for me. That specimen would be the dude to loves to fuck women but doesn't actually like women themselves. This is the specimen to whom we alternately refer to as "predator" and "asshole." And the truth is, I'm sure there's a female equivalent-- a man-hating sex-fiend who goes home at the end of the night and hates herself because she just can't get enough of these little vermin who just happen to have pleasure-causing equipment. Didn't Hall and Oates write a really shitty song about her (that one's for you, Jon!)?

And conversely, aren't there those among us who can genuinely enjoy the company of the opposite gender but just aren't blessed with kickin' libidos and therefore feel minimal pull to the more fleshly arts? Though, I don't figure too many people beyond Andrea Dworkin actually HATE sex... and even SHE felt conflicted enough about it to spend her whole life writing about it. My point here is just that me projecting a readily appreciable fuck-me vibe isn't what makes the question, "So you have a problem with men?" completely inappropriate-- when posed to me in particular.

It's true. I feel every bit as conflicted about my stance with regard to the opposite gender as pretty much every one else does. It bugs the piss out of me that I know I make a considerable percentage less money than several guys with whom I work-- who have fewer degrees than I have and have less experience (and who, frankly, aren't quite as good at their jobs as I am). I've spoken with some frequency about how I don't want to use my gender to assume a position of cultural victimhood-- there is nothing more disempowering that the self-disempowerment of identifying with the underdog. But honestly, the wage differential? Yeah, it makes me feel good 'n' helpless. Does it make me angry at men for establishing a system in which such unfairness is possible? Sure. Yeah. A little bit. But more than that, it makes me angry at all the women out there, just like me, who don't raise enough of a stink about it on a daily basis. I fucking HATE my own complicity. And why do we shrug our shoulders and say, "oh, it's just the way of the world?" Because it IS.

On a more interpersonal level, though, I'm troubled by the notion that, because I invest a significant quota of my consciousness into issues related to inter-gender relations, I might hate men. Have I been hurt by men? You betcha. Was it all their fault? Not even once (you know what they say about tangos). Do I have trouble trusting men as a result of my having been hurt by a couple of them? Well, no, honestly, not so much. Do I approach my interactions with them with caution? Well, sure, I'm not stupid, but it's an optimistic caution. The truth is that men are just people. Some of them are smart and sensitive and really do want real connection with women that includes but is not limited to sex. Some of them are retarded, sure, but hey-- mean-spiritedness and insensitivity and, well, even social retardation are certainly not specific to one gender.

And this brings me to an unpopular belief that I hold dear. I don't really believe in gendered behavior. Or gender difference in anything beyond anatomy. Men aren't men and women aren't women if men and women are all just humans. We're all pretty similarly motivated and, given allowances for differing (individual!) temperaments, backgrounds and chemical make-ups, one humanoid figure ain't so different from any other humanoid figure. Most people I know balk when I say such things, but I honestly think it's a lack of empathy that prevents us all from being on the proverbial same page, rather than something inherent in our chromosomes, hormonal differentials and erogenous zones. And the fact that I hold THAT belief is, actually, what I think makes me a feminist. Because not only do I believe men and women should be treated equally-- I actually believe that we ARE equal in pretty much every quantifiable way of which I can think. Incidentally, I think this belief is also when allows me to not only feel sexual attractions for men, but actually like them-- as people, not as providers or potential baby-daddies or whatever it is that our culture tells me I'm supposed to be seeking in my male companions. Is it a little solipsistic? This thinking that, because they're not so different from me, because I can, perhaps, see some of myself in them from time to time, I like them a little more than I might if I perceived men as wholly alien beings? Well, maybe it is. But if it fosters a more genuine effort towards connection, is that so bad?

So, this whole post boils down to the idea that feminism and heterosexuality (or, more accurately, the desire for heterosexual relationships, regardless of actual convoluted and un-label-able orientation) are not mutually exclusive. A deep and abiding interest in subjects related to gender and inter-gender negotiations and appreciating men as people worthy of my time are not mutually exclusive.

Yes, you who most recently asked me the question, I was offended. And I should have done as Tayari Jones admonished herself for not doing-- taken the moment as a teaching opportunity. But I did not. And, ultimately, it's hopelessly superior of me to assume that the offender actually needs teaching. Doubtlessly, the question was meant as a joke.

But, for future reference, please be advised: feminist sex is hotter. (Hit the label below for other information as might pertain to THAT idea.)

Having cool friends

A couple of months ago, I learned that Kore Press, a Tucson small, indie press that publishes women writers, had picked up my friend Spring's book for publication. Seeing as I've known for a long time that the world is in desperate need of her work and her passion and her wholehearted activistic philosophy, I couldn't have been more thrilled for her and for the rest of us that get to read her forthcoming book, Benjamin's Spectacles. However, the book won't be out until later this summer.

In the meantime, please head over to the Kore Press blog, where Spring has posted a delicious, sensitive, thoughtful and moving essay about the state of political poetry today and why political poetry is still valid, important, and worth our time 40 years after the fieriest moments of the Civil Rights movement. And why it's still good writing.

And, for more of her writings, the link to Spring's blog about her work in Rwanda is here. There's some of her great photography and drawings there, too.

As much as I'm glad that I get to be friends with a cool and amazing woman like Spring, I'm equally glad that there are folks like her fighting the real fight-- and that the world has access to the full import of what I'm inclined to call her "mission." So, this is me, doing my part to spread the word of her good deeds and good writings.

Thank you, Spring, for all you do.