When I first heard about Slutwalk, I cringed. I thought then, and think now, that the name is awful. "Slut" is a hate word and I do not believe hate words should be used in any context other than direct quotes and then only as necessary for some specific purpose that can't be met without using the quote. But when I first heard about Slutwalk, I wasn't being asked to pass judgment on it. I didn't have to like it. I was asked for legal help, the kind I am proud to give. A group was being prevented from engaging in a lawful demonstration by a city official deliberately misleading them about their rights. So I became the lawyer for Slutwalk Philadelphia and, with much help from the Philadelphia ACLU, got them a demonstration permit for the August 6th Slutwalk Philadelphia event.
This started in late May of this year, a month or so after the first Slutwalk. In the process of filing forms, I had to assist in figuring out a march starting point and a march route and an end point and the placement of a stage and a power source for a sound system. And before I knew it, I was a co-organizer. In those few short months between the first phone call and my standing on a stage at Philadelphia's City Hall, Slutwalks were taking place all over the world. What began as a protest of a sexist remark by one Toronto constable (telling college women that "women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized") had grown into an international movement of women outraged that we are consistently and universally blamed for being sexually assaulted. By August, over 80 separate Slutwalks (not all called "Slutwalk" in other countries) had taken place internationally.
One of my tasks was to organize the speakers. No Philadelphia feminist organization would work with Slutwalk. The primary rape crisis center refused to send counselors – much needed in a crowd that would certainly contain a significant number of women who had been sexually assaulted and might be triggered by something that day. But we got speakers – amazing, brilliant speakers who rocked us all. A diverse group: men, women, white, of color, straight, queer, trans, activists, academic, academics who were also activists, a state legislator. Our speakers spoke to, and for, as many people as we could possibly manage.
I don't remember when I first heard that the goal of some Slutwalk organizers in other cities was to reclaim the word "Slut" – to attempt to remove its power to injure by owning it, to remove the hate by embracing it. I remember reacting with shock, thinking, "No, the name 'Slutwalk' comes from the use of the word by the constable!" but a co-organizer told me that indeed reclamation was the explicit goal of some. At some point in organizational meetings we discussed it but I don't recall much. My recollection is that basically Slutwalk Philadelphia would take no position on reclamation. Our motto was "Blame the Perpetrator, Not the Victim." If people who attended the event felt reclamation was important to them, who were we to decide that for them? And when several of our speakers specifically disavowed reclamation (as I did) and none of our speakers embraced it, so it was.
Okay, here comes the part where I screwed up – big time – and I need to apologize.
On September 23rd, Black Women's Blueprint issued "An Open Letter from Black Women to the Slutwalk."I am ashamed of my reaction. My position on the letter, which I shared on more Facebook threads than I can now locate, was informed by two primary motivations: 1) I think like a lawyer and expect others to meet my lawyer expectation when presenting arguments and 2) I wanted to defend the extraordinary event that was Slutwalk Philadelphia on August 6th. As a lawyer I expect assertions to be supported by evidence, I abhor sweeping generalization and exaggerations, and I find it very difficult to keep my mouth shut (or fingers off keyboard) when someone writes something that is simply dishonest. I could find some of those in the Open Letter and all in the "discussions" that followed. So I pointed them out and did so defensively. I tried to be as polite and deferential as possible in the beginning but the responses to my comments were so rude and violent that I became more defensive and finally, beaten bloody, I pled for mercy which I did not receive. I left the discussion and Slutwalk.
You're probably wondering about now where the apology is coming in. Well, here it comes.
Had I not had the expectations of a lawyer in a context in which I may very well have been the only lawyer, had I not been so defensive and taken the Open Letter as an attack on Slutwalk Philadelphia and by extension on me and people I care about, I could have stepped back and given more serious thought to the real meaning of the letter. The central point of the letter was, I think, that Slutwalk, as a movement (and let's just call it that though I understand the arguments against it), had entrenched racism, at least in part, because appropriate safeguards to prevent racism were not in place. Also that the name is so offensive to so many, women of color can not feel welcome. A piece of me knew those were the assertions at the time but I rejected them and did not give them the consideration they deserved.
But then something happened that made everything I had argued before wrong and rendered all of my disagreements with the details of the Open Letter moot. Something happened that showed without doubt that Black Women's Blueprint was right, and I was wrong. On October 1st, Slutwalk NYC had its event and someone carried this sign:
If you have any trouble reading it, the sign says: "Woman Is the Ni**er of the World." [Note: I use the word in direct quote only and even then not in full.] That revolting line is from a song. You can read more about the history of that line, complete with an analysis of its use and an excellent list of posts that have been written about this incident, in a piece by activist filmmaker Aishah Shahidah Simmons who was speaker at Slutwalk Philadelphia. There is much that can be said about the appearance of this sign at a Slutwalk but I want to focus on one thing: it is clear evidence that there is racism at Slutwalks and insufficient safeguards in place to make Slutwalks safe space for women of color. I would expand that even further. Where there is racism, there is also the potential if not likelihood of bigotry and oppression of all kinds. That means that Slutwalks are not safe space for any member of any oppressed group.
So why are there no safeguards? Where does Slutwalk fail? Because there are no rules, there is no oversight, and there is no central authority that dictates what is and isn't acceptable at Slutwalks. There is no accountability. Now, this is something that actually attracts many and is what made it possible for Slutwalk Philadelphia to be an inclusive event that did not walk under the "I am a Slut" banner. The founders of the original Slutwalk in Toronto feel strongly that reclamation of the word "Slut" should be a priority. But since Toronto can not dictate what Philadelphia does, we could choose for ourselves. We were autonomous, as are all individual Slutwalk events. And it also allows Toronto to claim they have no responsibility for what happens at any event other than their own. I not only bought that argument, I sold it. It is, after all, a lawyer's argument. I argued "got a problem with what is happening at Slutwalk NYC, take it up with them." And I was wrong. Everyone who organizes a Slutwalk anywhere must be accountable for what happens at Slutwalks everywhere. If unacceptable conduct occurs anywhere, each and every one of us in Slutwalk must stand up and say, "No. This is unacceptable." And ultimately, if efforts to bring change fail, one must say, "I can not be part of Slutwalk if this is happening in any Slutwalk." That is the decision I made and that is why I am no longer part of Slutwalk.
Events like Slutwalk Philadelphia on August 6th are empowering, important and healing. We need people to stand together and say, "It is unacceptable to blame people who have been sexually assaulted for their own assaults. What I wear does not give anyone permission to touch my body. Violence against women and against men must stop." But that space must be safe. In order for that space to be safe the event must have a name that accurately describes the event and is not so offensive to many that people will stay away simply because of the name. I argue that in order for such a space to be safe, it can not be called "Slutwalk."
Such an event must also have some central body that is held accountable for what happens – even if it is only nationwide. There was an attempt to create a space for discussion of issues affecting U.S. Slutwalks. It was a Facebook page. Not much, but a start. For a few days I was one of the administrators of that page. But discussions about U.S. Slutwalks didn't take place, U.S. organizers didn't come to the page or post, and at least one of the other administrators posted links that were off-topic. Exasperated, I resigned as administrator of what was then just dead air. That was on October 5th. Thursday night (October 13th) I came home from a business trip to find, quite by accident, that an administrator who refuses to identify herself had posted a string of racist comments underneath a link of mine. This quite reasonably led people to believe that I was the author of the racist posts. Over fifty comments vilifying me followed. My pleas to the page owner, Atlanta Slutwalk organizer Kim Rippere, to clarify that I was not the author of the racist comments have gone unanswered. I private messaged as many of the commenters whose accounts allowed but received only one response. An unidentified Slutwalk organizer, and Slutwalk Co-Founder, Heather Jarvis responded to my plea on the wall of the main Slutwalk Facebook page with the following:
No one from our Canadian organizing team has any control or privileges over the SlutWalk USA page you are referencing. Please try to connect with the admins of that page.
Total lack of accountability. That is not safe space for this or any other event.
When the Black Women's Blueprint Open Letter came out, I was authorized on behalf of Slutwalk Philadelphia to approach them and ask to engage in dialogue. I received a very polite reply saying they were going to dialogue with NYC and Toronto only. I was angry. It made no sense to attempt to resolve what is clearly at least a national problem by talking only with two groups out of so many – one of which isn't even in the U.S. Now I wonder that Black Women's Blueprint would want to talk to anyone involved in Slutwalk at all.
Slutwalk Toronto has posted repeatedly that it is composing a response to Blackwomen's Blueprint. But still, nothing.
Though some organizers have also denounced the NYC sign (including Slutwalk Philadelphia), nothing is being done to stop racist comments from being posted in the name of Slutwalk USA on Facebook. And as long as racism – or any bigotry or oppression – exists in the name of Slutwalk, I can not be a part of it.
To all I have offended along this painful journey, I am sincerely sorry. To those who wish to continue to work to fight blaming women for being sexually assaulted, I hope our paths cross again.
Okay, this one does violate the "areola rule." But in addition to the removal, Earth Mama received a new warning – one I haven't seen before:
Because you uploaded photo content that violates our policies, you won’t be able to upload photos for 7 days. After this 7-day block is lifted, please make sure any photos you upload follow Facebook’s policies. If you have other photos on the site that violate our policies, be sure to remove them immediately or you could be blocked from uploading content for a longer period of time.
Has anyone seem the "7 day block" before or is Facebook just making it up as it goes along?
The photo of the white woman does indeed violate the existing Facebook definition of obscenity: areola=obscene. But the question remains concerning the African American mother and child nursing that was removed earlier in the week:
(c) Earth Mama Angel Baby
Nope, no areola there. So why was this image removed? What is inappropriate about it? There is one more possibility to add to the racism discussion. It occurred to me fleetingly but when I heard someone else mention it, I thought I should say it out loud. Some people may look at the image of an African American woman nursing her baby and think she is nursing a "white" child. Come on. Raise of hands. How many people considered the possibility that the woman in the second image above is nursing a "white" baby?
The reason why some significant proportion of you are raising your hands is because in the U.S., "white" people don't have much experience with "black" babies. By and large we don't live in the same neighborhoods, we don't shop in the same grocery stores and the images of non-white babies don't grace the covers of most magazines or appear in most advertisements.
For some reason I can't find a decent citation for this (please post it if you have one) but most babies are born a bit red and ruddy. Few babies of any race are born with "black" skin. The baby in this picture will develop a skin color vaguely like his or her parents eventually but under a year old, her or her skin color will be more like my ("white") skin. I, a white woman, had a first born who resembled Don King. Go figure.
So back to the race question. Just because Facebook has come back and taken down the photo of the white woman, doesn't resolve why the photo of the black woman was taken down? It may be pushing any number of buttons involving race ("white people don't want to see a black woman breastfeeding and certainly not a white baby!"). But it certainly doesn't violate any stated policy of Facebook.
Facebook has been making news and raising ire for removing breastfeeding photos since late 2008. I have been writing about the protests here and in the late Mothering magazine. Facebook did announce the standard it would be using to decide whether a breastfeeding image is "obscene" and thus would be removed. I wrote about that in "It's All About the Areola." According to the official statement from Facebook, "visible areola" is the determining factor in which image is obscene. Yes, I think the standard is absurd but at least it isn't arbitrary.
Hmm. No visible areola. So Facebook is not following its own rule. Why this picture then?
The procedure for removal of Facebook image begins with someone reporting an image as inappropriate. Facebook has neither the time nor inclination to troll its site looking for breastfeeding pictures. So I think it is unlkely some barely post-pubescent Stanford grad in Palo Alto gave this image a whole lot of thought. As the owner of Earth Mama points out on her blog, the other breastfeeding image in the same Facebook page is of a white woman and was not removed. What stood out to me about that other image is that areola is visible.
So black woman showing no areola is obscene and white woman showing areola is not. It is possible this was entirely arbitrary. Someone reported the image of the black woman but not the image of the white woman. Perhaps that disputes an allegation of racism on the part of Facebook. But one then has to wonder why someone viewing a page with both images reported one and not the other. And I have to agree, the most obvious distinction is race. The racist (conscious or not) is whoever reported the image. Someone out there is more uncomfortable with the image of a black woman breastfeeding than a white woman who is breastfeeding (with areola exposed).
Thoughts? Is the race theory paranoia? Is the removal of this particular image saying more about those who use Facebook than those who run it? Discuss (respectfully please). [Thanks to Earth Mama for permission to use the image]
Breastfeeding is essential for all human beings, but nowhere is the need to breastfeed more acute than in a situation where there is little or no access to clean water, safe shelter, or reliable food supplies. Most, if not all, in the lactation community, are concerned with the issue of lactation support and how it is addressed by the non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and humanitarian relief organizations offering relief services immediately after a crisis.
When I went to Haiti, in September 2010, to provide lactation support in a maternity clinic and the surrounding community, I expected to come home with the story of how I had helped mothers breastfeed, of the classes I had given and the support I provided. And I did come home with many stories…but none of them were my own.
Over the months since I returned home, many people asked how my trip went, as if I had been on vacation and could sum up my experiences in one or two words. I tried.
“It was intense."
"It was challenging."
"It was amazing."
I did not want to use the cliché, “It was life changing,” though it was. I was encouraged to present my work at symposiums and conferences. I was asked to give talks on what I had done in Haiti. But there was an underlying assumption that this was it – I had done my part, and I was finished.
But really, this is just the beginning.
Writing this post is the next step, my next step, in what I hope will be a much larger program which will do even more than I can do myself. It has been difficult for me to write this post because there is simply so much to say, but so few words that can actually express the reality of what I experienced.
How can I describe in words what I need emotions to truly convey? I could write many paragraphs about the feeling of my heart in my throat, from both excitement and fear, as I said goodbye to my husband and children. I could describe in detail the soaring of confidence as the plane landed in Haiti – the feeling that, perhaps, I could help in some small way. I could write an entire post about my gratitude at being welcomed with so many warm, sincere smiles. I could try to express my dismay on hearing of injustices that continue every day, but then I'd also have to write about the hope I felt because of the resilience I saw every minute, which I know will someday make a difference.
But then I'd still be left with an incomplete story because as much as I hope I helped the people of Haiti, they helped me, too. So how do I impart the lessons I learned, when I had come to teach? I came to educate expectant mothers on the importance of breastfeeding, but instead I was taught the importance of listening for the questions they didn’t ask. I came to answer questions from medical staff on how to support lactation, but instead I was shown glimpses of the cultural knowledge of which I lacked any understanding.
I came to make a difference; I left humbled by the way others made a difference in me.
So let me try to share some of that difference, to return to you the stories I heard, saw and experienced in my brief time amid the island and its people.
My first hour in Haiti was spent talking to Hermann. Hermann is almost 70 years old, fluent in English and teaching himself Spanish. He works as a taxi driver in Port au Prince. After my plane landed, I made my way through customs and immigration and found myself waiting outside for my colleague, whose plane was not due to land for another hour. Hermann had not found himself a fare among those on my plane, so we sat and he told me about his country, his fears and his hopes.
Hermann told me he was grateful for all of the people coming to Haiti, but that they would not help his country. His country needed to fixed, yes, but it could only be fixed from within. He told me of the bodies, still buried in the rubble of the earthquake, and the families that could not move on because there was no closure for their loss. He didn't seem to believe there would be closure for these families any time soon.
Ultimately Hermann expressed his hope that I would return to Haiti after this trip, because he knows that my work is important to the mothers and the babies and the future of Haiti. He warned me to be careful about whom I trusted in his country, because many were trying to take advantage of relief workers and humanitarians. When we parted he took my hand and gave me his business card. I am sure that I have been long forgotten, just another of a long line of visitors to Haiti, but his willingness to share a brief acquaintance will remain with me for a long time.
Much of my time in Haiti was spent with Nahomie. Nahomie translated for me during the classes I gave to nurses and women who were pregnant or had just delivered. She was always smiling or laughing, and was an amazing resource for me as I attempted to convey how important breastfeeding is and can be to the women of Haiti. She worked hard to translate not only the words, but also the meaning of my message to those we spoke with. When she translated their questions to me, she worked just as hard to impress upon me the cultural nuances behind the questions. We attended births together, cooed over new babies, and discussed her plans to become a midwife someday. Before I left Haiti, we hugged and cried – the intensity of emotion involved with our work leaving us with no other option.
There really are too many stories to tell in one brief post. So many people have asked me so many things about my trip and I have tried to answer all the questions. But there is one question that has been asked only by a few:
“What now?”
I asked myself that question every day for months after I returned home before I was able to answer. Unfortunately, my answers are, quite often, more questions.
The father who kept asking if it was all right to feed his infant table food as the infant’s mother was dead and the family could not afford formula. What now?
The woman we spoke with who had lost both of her teenage daughters in the earthquake and, though trying, was unable to get pregnant again. What now?
The woman who labored in silence for hours – the father not present at the birth because he had no intention of acknowledging or supporting his child. The baby was born with an abnormally formed foot and ankle. Though there was a hospital capable of performing surgery on the baby, it was many hours away and the mother had neither the funds nor the capacity to get him there. What now?
All too often I was left feeling like I had no answers, no solutions for the people who found their realities to be full of "What now?" situations.
But then, there were happy endings, too. The woman we worked with who was hemorrhaging after birth, her baby unable to breastfeed. We were extremely concerned when she left the maternity clinic, mere hours later. But the next day, the father called to let us know the baby was breastfeeding fine and the mother was well, we were all relieved and we knew we had helped, at least a little.
But what do we do next?
Every day there are new disasters affecting people all over the world. Climate change, earthquakes, floods, mudslides, erupting volcanoes – the list goes on and on. Caught, and often unseen, in each of these disasters are mothers and babies – families—who need support to start and continue breastfeeding. I envision a network of lactation support personnel who work with NGOs and relief agencies before, during, and after emergency situations, so that every mother has the resources she needs to breastfeed—the resources she needs to give her baby the best chance at survival.
This is, of course, more than any one person can do and something that will take more than just time, volunteers or money.
When I think back on my time in Haiti, I see a parade of faces in my mind, all of them with unique stories to tell, all of them with unique needs. And while we can rush in with supplies and medicine and food, sometimes it takes more than that. As Hermann told me, sometimes the healing must come from within. Breastfeeding support is one way to give women in need the ability to take care of her needs and her baby's needs without waiting on shipments of aid from the outside. Some might say this is too small a need to matter, but listening to the women I spoke to in Haiti, it is clearly vital. We can learn far more about our world and the people in it, if we only take the time to listen.
Only three U.S. states have no public breastfeeding law – West Virginia, Idaho and Nebraska. Unfortunately the majority of state public breastfeeding laws don't do a particularly good job of stopping harassment of women who breastfeed in public (this is where I tell you again to go read my feature in Mothering magazine called Lactation and the Law, remind you that "a right without a remedy is no right at all," and tell you I have an update feature on U.S. breastfeeding law coming out in Mothering in probably the May/June issue).
On January 7th, Legislative Bill 197 was introduced in the Nebraska Legislature. The text is:
Section 1. Notwithstanding any other provision of law, a mother may breast-feed her child in any public or private location where the mother is otherwise authorized to be.
Introduced by State Senator Annette Dubas, it does not appear this bill, if passed, would confer any right, enforceable or otherwise. As written, this is a permission law. Women may breastfeeding in public and, it seems, other people may interfere with her ability to do that by telling her to leave or cover up. And it doesn't appear there is anything the nursing woman would be able to do about it.
Since breastfeeding in public is not currently illegal in Nebraska, one must wonder why women need permission. They don't. They need protection. And this bill doesn't give protection.
Senator Dubas may not understand this is how public breastfeeding laws work. And it may be helpful if Nebraskans tell her what kind of public breastfeeding law Nebraska really needs.
Are you a Nebraskan? Have you nursed in public? Can you contact Senator Dubas, the bill's co-sponsors and your own state senator and let them know Nebraska needs a public breastfeeding law that will really protect a right to breastfeed in public?
Since its passage in 2006, Tennessee's public breastfeeding law has been trouble. It reads:
68-58-101. Right to breastfeed in any location. —
A mother has a right to breastfeed her child who is twelve (12) months of age or younger in any location, public or private, where the mother and child are otherwise authorized to be present.
The only state breastfeeding law with an age limit, Tennessee's statute isn't just problematic because it reserves whatever protection it might provide to children twelve months or younger. It also creates the possibility that public breastfeeding of a child older than twelve months is unlawful in some way.
Breastfeeding in public is legal in every state. However, it is not protected in every state. Most U.S. states now have some law stating that a woman may breastfeed in public. However, women continue to be harassed and evicted from public space when they do. That is why state breastfeeding laws must have enforcement provisions – a legal recourse available to women who have been prevented from breastfeeding in public space.
Tennessee's public breastfeeding law doesn't have an enforcement provision. And this continues to be a problem. However, placing an age limit on the provision of the health code I quote above both creates the possibility that a store owner or police officer will assume public breastfeeding of children over twelve months is illegal but also creates a fear among women that they aren't legally allowed to breastfeed older children in public.
A bill has been introduced in the Tennessee state Senate that would resolve one of these issues. Senate Bill 0083 states:
BE IT ENACTED BY THE GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF THE STATE OF TENNESSEE:
SECTION 1. Tennessee Code Annotated, Section 68-58-101, is amended by deleting
the language "who is twelve (12) months of age or younger" in its entirety.
SECTION 2. Tennessee Code Annotated, Section 39-13-511(d), is amended by
deleting the language "who is twelve (12) months of age or younger" in its entirety.
SECTION 3. This act shall take effect July 1, 2011, the public welfare requiring it.
Introduced this month by state Senator Mike Faulk, I haven't seen much press on this bill. If you live in Tennessee, it is important you contact Senator Faulk's office and find out what support this bill needs. While you are in touch with his office, adding that Tennessee's public breastfeeding law needs an enforcement provision as well would help bring attention to this problem. But eliminating the age limitation is urgent and long overdue.
I'd love to hear from anyone in Tennessee who has had experience with this law or who can share her experience nursing in public. Are you a nursing Tennessean?
West Virginia is one of only three U.S. states (along with Nebraska and Idaho) that has no law whatsoever protecting breastfeeding. So I was glad to read that this month not one but two bills were introduced in the West Virginia Senate concerning breastfeeding.
Unfortunately, one of the bills could result in a law that helps breastfeeding mothers and the other … well, not so much.
West Virginia Senate Bill Number 80 adds "currently breast feeding mother" to the list of people disqualified from jury duty. If I had my choice I would add breastfeeding mothers to those who can be exempt if they choose and who are given accommodations if they wish (as people with physical disabilities are under current West Virginia law) but if this bill results in getting breastfeeding women out of having to serve on juries when their babies need them or they need to empty their engorged breasts, this is a good thing.
Senate Bill Number 82, a public breastfeeding bill, needs some work. The bill has a "note" attached to it that is not actually part of the law. It states:
The purpose of this bill is to declare a child's right to nurse and making a statement by the Legislature that nursing in a public place is socially acceptable.
I know this looks good (other than the awkward wording and visceral response I have to a statement that nursing in public is "socially acceptable" – just makes me want to scream "I don't give a damn if it is socially acceptable!"). Breastfeeding advocates love the idea of a child having a right to nurse. I love it too but it is problematic. Why? Because adults have protected civil rights in the U.S. and children, generally speaking, do not. So the U.S. legal system as it is renders the note empty.
But remember, this is not actually part of what the law would say if it passes. What the law would say is:
ARTICLE 1. STATE PUBLIC HEALTH SYSTEM.
§16-1-19. Child's right to nurse; location where permitted; right protected.
(a) The Legislature finds that breast feeding is an important, basic act of nurturing that is protected in the interests of maternal and child health.
(b) A mother may breast feed a child in any location, public or private, where the mother and child are otherwise authorized to be.
Again, looks good right? But if you have read my other writing on the practical impact of public breastfeeding law, you will know what is wrong with this bill. If a store owner tells a woman she must leave because he doesn't allow breastfeeding in his store or says only women who cover up can breastfeed, what can the mother legally do? Nothing. This bill contains no mechanism to enforce any "right," either of a child or of the mother. And, repeat after me, "a right without a remedy is no right at all."
So what can you do if you are in West Virginia? Have a look at this interview with state Senator Dan Foster, one of the sponsors of both of these bills. He gets it. He understands the importance of breastfeeding, both the health benefits and the economic benefits to the state.
According to this report, Foster anticipates having more difficulty getting the public breastfeeding bill passed than the bill disqualifying breastfeeding women from jury duty. The news report also erroneously states that women would be given a choice of pump accommodations on jury duty. That is actually not in the bill and should be.
So if you are in West Virginia, contact state Senator Dan Foster and tell him what you think of these bills. Let him know similar public breastfeeding laws in other states leave women unprotected because they have no enforcement mechanism. If he says he doesn't think he can get such a bill passed, pledge your support for a strong law protecting a civil right to breastfeed in public. Tell him you are willing to make phone calls to other state Senators and help him get a strong bill passed.
We own a hobby farm. On the five acres surrounding our home we raise small live stock birds, turkeys, chickens (primarily for eggs), ducks. What do we feed them? We buy feed at the local feed store and we avoid the food that contains antibiotics and chemical additives. In warm weather our animals free range and eat the plants and bugs they find on our land.
We also own and lease our other approximately 120 acres of farm land to a tenant farmer. This year we planted non-genetically modified soy beans. These beans bring a higher price per bushel and can be sold to foreign markets because they are NGMO (non-genetically modified organism) crops. What does the rest of the world know that seems to be escaping the USDA? The rest of the world does not want genetically modified food crops in their food stuffs. Science has mixed reviews on what these modified crops do to our health over time, not to mention that the modifications that science labs create would probably never occur in nature. How would soy, for instance, be crossed with cauliflower. Guess what? Soy is crossed with cauliflower so it can be sprayed with Monsanto's Roundup. If you eat commercially grown soy and you have a food allergy to cauliflower how will that impact your health? How does this impact the nutritional quality of the food?
So for my way of thinking these foods (often referred to as Frankenstein foods) are unproven for long term safety in our bodies. Currently there is no required consumer labeling of these items. When you buy foods you don't know if the corn in that taco your eating is GMO or not, but it probably is. How does this impact the organic food industry? Organics are a thriving and rapidly growing business in the US. This is one sector of the economy that appears to be doing well.
Alfalfa is often used as a cover crop for wintering fields to prevent erosion. It is also food stuff for animals. What happens when genetically modified alfalfa enters the food chain? How long will it take before non-modified alfalfa is wiped out? When GMO crops are planted they cross pollinate with non-GMO crops and change them to GMO crops. Once introduced there is no way to control the spread of the GMO crop on surrounding fields, plants and animals. Migrating birds eat these crops and can transport these seeds far and wide. Alfalfa is eaten by cattle so the milk they produce will have been touched by the GMO alfalfa. The droppings they leave will be altered. These dropping will be used as fertilizer on fields that are planted.
Our children will eat the cheese and the milk, and the meats from these animals. They will consume the vegetables from the fields; the same fields that have been covered by the alfalfa over the winter. Later the manure from the animals feed the GMO alfalfa will be tilled into that soil.
Family Farmers in this country are being wiped out by large corporations like Monsanto. The growing organic food and farming industry and the public's desire for clean non-GMO foods are at risk if this GMO Alfalfa is allowed to be put into the food chain.
On our family farm, we grow free range birds for eggs and meat; we grow what we like to think of as an organic garden on the land surrounding our home. We try to buy local and organic when we can. We only have a small family farm, like the rest we could not begin to make enough to support ourselves so we lease out our larger plot of land and let it be farmed by another. We were delighted when we heard that our tenant farmer had planted non-GMO soy beans. There is little to no profit in farming these days and it is more a commitment to the land than a conscious choice. The little good we can do can be quickly wiped out by rain, or lack of it or a big company or even maybe the USDA. Already many countries will not accept our grain shipments because they are GMO grains. The European Union refuses GMO imports. Our soy beans were sold to Japan who wants non-GMO beans. And they can bring on average of a dollar more per bushel. The impact is global.
For more information on the impact of, and fight against, genetically modified crops, see:
Dear John, I Love Jane: Women Write About Leaving Men for Women is a collection of love stories. Most beautiful, some sad, they are in many ways like any love stories – except before the authors found love with women, they had lived with (and often loved) men.
In the inspired introduction, editors Candace Walsh and Laura Andre talk about what makes the women in this collection different from those in the few previous works by women who found female partners later in life. Unlike the women in From Wedded Wife to Lesbian Life: Stories of Transformation, and many of my clients at the time I read that book, women who love women are now less likely to lose their children in custody battles, lose their jobs and lose the support of their communities. But sadly some of this loss still occurs and it is in this book. Amanda V. Mead in her essay "This Love is Messy" did lose her public school teaching job in one of the many states that offers no protection from sexual orientation discrimination. A few others lost friends and family. But, more often than not, as Erin Mantz wrote in "Undoing Everything":
And then it happened: nothing. At least, not to my face. Not yet.
Falling in love with a woman at thirty-nine may have turned my life upside down, but the friends and family all around me are still standing.
There is another difference between Dear John, I Love Jane and other "coming out" stories: many of the women were truly happy in their relationships with men. While there is certainly a good bit of reflection about early attraction to women that the authors suppressed or ignored, few of the authors lived actively closeted lives. They may have taken some time to find what they wanted in their lives, but by and large, when they found it, they pursued it. And some, like Veronica Masen in "Watershed," stay with their male mates – not as sexual partners but as parenting partners making a happy family though mom is a lesbian.
This is not a collection only to be read by women who are questioning their sexuality or who have been in relationships with both men and women. These stories are about the journeys of women you know. They are about finding out who you really are in the face of culture and family telling you who you are supposed to be. They are about searching for happiness. They are about being honest with yourself and the people you love. These stories are universal. And they are well-written, filled with experiences that are familiar and positive.
"The Right Fit" by Kami Day is haunting. Raised in a strict and insular Mormon family, Day believed what she was taught about the spiritual necessity of marrying the man who was her destiny. When sex was painful and unpleasant, she and her husband ultimately went to a psychiatrist who taught them about sexuality. While this helped Day find sexual pleasure, her relationship with her husband did not improve. Year after year, child after child, Day endured years of obligatory unpleasant sex in a loveless marriage. One would think this was a very sad story, and to me it is. But in Day's extraordinary essay one sees that in her own assessment of her life, finding your great love when you are forty-four is as wonderful as life can be. She had left a long marriage and the church in which she and her family had lived for generations. But her essay resonates with joy and contentment.
In "Running From the Paper Eye,"Susan White lyrically presents scenes from her life: her mother's rift with her own lesbian sister blamed on the death of an Easter chick; White's toddler self-perception she was a boy as her mother jammed her little body into dresses; the perceptive aunt who questions her decision to marry. In introducing the demise of her marriage, she is lovely and stark:
Wes blamed our divorce on the poison oak. Sure, let the plant take the fall. A natural disaster.
Dear John, I Love Jane is fascinating, enlightening and, finally, hopeful. Not every love affair lasts but, in the end, these women are happy with their lives.
I got a fundraising e-mail from Amnesty International the other day. It was from a celebrity, as so many non-profit fundraising e-mails are. But this one really made me stop and look. It was from actor Patrick Stewart and it was about supporting Amnesty International's campaign concerning violence against women. He wrote:
I know too much about violence against women – as a child I watched in terror as my mother was abused by an angry and unhappy man who could not control his emotions, nor his hands.
and
Amnesty was instrumental in the passage of the Tribal Law and Order Act of 2010 – signed into law by President Obama in July. This law begins to reverse the alarming rate of sexual violence against Native American and Alaska Native women. Survivors of sexual assault finally stand a real chance of getting a police response, a rape kit and the opportunity to see their case prosecuted.
Amnesty is also a driving force behind the International Violence Against Women Act (IVAWA), which aims to revolutionize the way U.S. foreign policy confronts abuses like domestic violence, rape, honor killings and human trafficking worldwide. If passed, IVAWA will support measures to prevent violence, protect survivors and bring perpetrators to justice.
I knew this about Amnesty International but I didn't know this about Patrick Stewart. So I did some research and came across this powerful video.
As someone who grew up in a home much like Stewart's, a good bit of this resonates with me. The first time I dialed 911, I was ten years old. I watched in fury as one police officer after another refused to arrest my step-father. He was walked around the block. He was believed when he said my mother open wounds were the result of a fall. Not only was my step-father never sanctioned in any way for beating my mother, no police officer ever called an ambulance or offered to help her get medical care. As a ten, eleven, twelve year old, it was my job to mop up the blood. And there was a lot of blood. Night after night.
The neighbors knew, of course, but no one helped. I was never even offered a safe place to stay for the night as we waiting in fear for my step-father to bang on the door.
As an adult, when I was Litigation Coordinator at the Women Against Abuse Legal Center in Philadelphia in the early 1990s, I found that not much had changed since I argued with New York City police officers in the 1970s. My clients were accused of provoking the men who broke their arms. My clients lost their children to protective services because there was violence in the home but I could not get protective orders enforced that would keep abusers out of the home. And one day I got a call from a priest who ran an in-patient drug rehab program. He wanted to talk to me about a man in his facility. The man was distraught to discover his wife had filed for a protective order against him. The priest told me he thought the man was a good man. That he wasn't dangerous. That I should help him resolve this without going to court. He put the man on the phone weeping bitterly about losing his family and never having hit her. I told them when the next court date was and that he could make his arguments there. The priest thought me heartless.
Indeed I did make a huge mistake that day. A fatal mistake. I did not confirm whether the man was free to leave the facility if he wanted. If I had known, I would have called the client immediately to report the conversation. I would have, and should have, warned her. But I didn't. And within a few hours of that phone call, the man left rehab, went home, and stabbed his wife twelve times in front of their two toddlers. I will live forever knowing that maybe, just maybe, I could have saved her life.
The violence I and Patrick Stewart saw as a child, and that I saw as a lawyer, continues today. The law has changed significantly in most places in the U.S. but enforcement is still woefully inadequate. Women who defend themselves end up going to prison while their abusers are still walked around the block.
Please give. If not to the National Clearinghouse, find a local battered woman's shelter and give generously.
Has domestic violence touched your life? Is ending violence against women something you are working on? How has your experience of violence against women changed your life?
In the inspired introduction, editors Candace Walsh and Laura Andre talk about what makes the women in this collection different from those in the few previous works by women who found female partners later in life. Unlike the women in 
, and many of my clients at the time I read that book, women who love women are now less likely to lose their children in custody battles, lose their jobs and lose the support of their communities. But sadly some of this loss still occurs and it is in this book. Amanda V. Mead in her essay "This Love is Messy" did lose her public school teaching job in one of the many states that offers no protection from sexual orientation discrimination. A few others lost friends and family. But, more often than not, as 
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