After the New York Times so hamfistedly handled the topic of acquaintance rape, what better time to drop this video on the joy of consent?
Jamie and Mikki talk about street harassment, with a little help from Fake Steebie J.
My day job involves working for the federal government. My particular agency serves a vulnerable population, and as of this week most of my coworkers were deemed as essential. We’re part of that million plus going to work every day & hoping that we’ll get paid for it. Eventually. Like any job, I have a laundry list of complaints about my office even when the government isn’t shut down. I don’t voice most of them in public (we are subject to all sorts of rules and in my position its easier to just steer clear of naming my agency at all), but I can’t resist the occasional bout of nondescript venting. This is not that. It could be, but really I’ve said enough, and recently I decided to leave my good government job. Because it really isn’t so good, and I’m tired of doing work I don’t love for a future that isn’t guaranteed.
I admit that like a lot of people of color, I was raised on the ideal of a Good Government Job. In my grandmother’s mind, a government job was the best anyone black could hope to achieve. You got a job with Uncle Sam or the state, county, or even the city and you stayed in it for 30+ years. It paid a living wage, and guaranteed a decent income in retirement. As the Holy Grail of jobs, it could come with any number of problems, and all of them would be worth it. You got your foot in the door and you stayed there. My grandmother preached the Good Government Gospel to her children and grandchildren. Mostly we listened, especially as it became clear that my grandmother’s friends with Good Government Jobs fared better financially than those without such exalted positions. Granted, my grandfather and grandmother never quite achieved that level of stability (they prospered from vice, small businesses, and a general ability to hustle), but then they were ones who went out to work young and who never had quite the same level of education and access that they sacrificed to obtain for their children.
Two of my aunts had Good Government Jobs that made it possible for them to sustain not only themselves, but my grandmother at times over the years after my grandfather passed and medical bills from his myasthenia gravis and my grandmother’s cancer ate up their savings. As state and city employees, they waded through rivers of red tape and came out the other side with some measure of stability. However, they are having two very different retirements. One aunt (a former state employee) is getting by on a fixed income that would have been comfortable pre-recession, and that is barely making ends meet now. The other (a former teacher and principal with Chicago Public Schools) is in better shape financially, but because Chicago teachers are excluded from social security, she is still working post retirement to make insurance payments until she is old enough to qualify for Medicare. Neither of them are having the kind of retirement they were promised 30+ years ago.
Their retirements have been…instructive for me as I stare down the barrel of my second government shutdown. I’ve been essential both times (I was in the Army during the first one), and this time as I sit in a job that I hate for other reasons, I’m trying to imagine 30 more years of this kind of stress, as well as the chances that the promises being made now will be kept then. There’s this ongoing anti-government worker rhetoric that frames the services we provide as things that should be charitable donations.
The Good Government Job has long been the key to accessing financial stability for workers of color. I know more than one single parent who would not be in any position to care for their families without the benefits and pay offered. And make no mistake, despite the negative hype attached, government workers are doing important necessary work to run this country. But at what cost? Aside from the risks inherent in counting on a pension that may not exist, there’s the reality that government jobs don’t lend themselves to creativity.
Like a lot of us that grew up poor, I was always encouraged to think of writing or any other creative talent as a hobby. The Good Government Job was the best option, with a “real” job in the private sector as the second best option. Now, as I sit here with writing opportunities on one side, and furloughs and rhetoric on the other? I can’t help but think that the Good Government Job is dying on the vine, and just maybe it’s time to teach poor kids to reach for their dreams instead of wasting years on jobs that won’t keep their promises in the first place. If we can’t have financial stability, at the very least we can pursue the things we love and hope that they can sustain us. What were you taught? What will you teach? Am I the only one that’s ready to give up on the idea of a single job being enough to pay the bills?
I’m not good at introducing myself.
I’m loud, funny, damaged, and sometimes aggressive. I was a nerd in grammar school, fast-tailed in high school, and incredibly naive about politics before I joined the U.S. Army. I can’t say I was naive about much else, my childhood saw to the end of my innocence before I even grasped what that word meant. And whatever was left, well…Uncle Sam took the rest of it. I’ve blundered a lot over the years, trying to find my way from what I was to what I think I might want to be. I’m not there yet, but I have come far enough to understand that my roots are nothing to be ashamed of and to see that the hood gave me some good with the bad.
This site is a place for the other hood chicks, for the ones living in the inner city and navigating poverty, as well as the ones in the country making a dollar stretch. Some of us are middle class now, some of us are skating the poverty line. Either way, we’re on the margins and we’re loud enough, proud enough that we won’t be talked about, run over, or silenced any more. This is a place to broadcast, signal boost, and make sure that we’re experts on our own experiences. I’m Mikki Kendall, and I’d like to welcome you to Hood Feminism.
I’ve been mulling over this intro for days. I’m pretty lousy at writing them. I know that they are supposed to be all cute and clever and full of hope and whimsy. Given my current state, I’m not sure if I can give you, Kind Reader, any of those things. But I can let you in on what we hope to accomplish with Hood Feminism.
As a kid, I grew up on the margins. I am the progeny of a career barmaid and a drug-addicted tradesman. I knew little of feminism until college, and–even then–it was something to be avoided. As an adult I’d get a crash course on the subject (and all of the icky politics surrounding it) on LiveJournal. I read the books and learned the jargon. I attended discussions and conferences. I did all of the things I thought one was supposed to do to be A Good Feminist. Still, I felt…left out. Disconnected. The prevailing notion of a “one size fits all” movement made little sense.
A lot of the conversations happening then are the same ones happening now. That’s not good. If anything, it points to the stagnation of a movement so enamored with itself that it cannot be bothered to look beyond its reflection. While Big Name Feminists are debating The End of Men, women on the margins–women like me–are sleeping at train stations and working double shifts for paltry wages. They are buying school supplies with rent money. They are fighting for citizenship because they aren’t the “right kind of immigrants.”
When mainstream feminists do deign to recognize these women, they always talk about them, never to them. They are problems to be solved, not actual human beings. At best, they are worthy of a 200-word blog post or a 10-minute segment on a Sunday morning show. But once the post is published, once the lights are dimmed, it’s back to business as usual, and soon we’re back to shaming women for taking their husbands’ last names.
So, it’s time to change the game.
Hood Feminism hopes to accomplish what other sites haven’t. We don’t want to talk at folks; we want them to be part of the conversation. We want to give folks the space to tell their own stories. To talk about the things that matter. To highlight remarkable people doing remarkable things. And to have a little fun.
There will be original reporting, interviews, and a number of series on topics ranging from homeschooling to police brutality. There will be podcasts and G+ Hangouts and (maybe in the not-so-near future) a live event or two. We want to create a safe space for those who need it most.
As bell hooks once wrote, “Feminism is for everybody.” We’re gonna make damned sure it is.