The Week At Wofford

The sophomore slump...

Last night, I came to the realization that I've fallen deep into the sophomore slump -- the very thing I feared may happen this year. Just in case it hasn't happened to you, or you can't remember the feelings, I'll recap: lack of interest in classes, complete unawareness about your future vocation if you can even pin-point one, thinking only about the future and never appreciating the now... overall, just a feeling of restless and disappointment. Before you start recommending a psychiatrist for my depression-like symptoms, let me explain.

Over interim, I had the fortunate opportunity to travel to Namibia and Botswana, two English-speaking countries in Africa. I confess that this experience was eye-opening in so many ways; not only did it cause me to become more aware of the conditions of many African countries, especially in Southern Africa, it gave me the conviction that Africa was a place that inspires me. Whenever I sat down to my journal to pen the day's events, emotions flowed onto the page -- the writing never seemed to end, there was a continuous stirring inside of me. I thought this would be my only opportunity to travel to this intriguing continent; as my 18-hour flight began its shakey ascent into the sky, I promised myself I'd be back -- whether it was in 2 years or 20.

Arriving back at Wofford, I had a high that never seemed to quite wear off. Not only did the mention of Africa send me into a fit of discussion, everything else seemed to matter a little more. I wanted my life on track. I wanted to be proactive. I wanted to write -- something I've done over the years living in apprehension of what criticism my writing would receive. I never even stepped into the game; I practiced behind closed doors and refused to let anyone see the results. I was scared. I still am.

Anyways, back to the words. The words I couldn't keep down. Words were everywhere for a blissful couple of weeks. Even if they were forced by assignments or obligation, I delighted in the feel of these words -- forming like rain clouds in my head and pouring out of me... drop drop drop on the keyboard. I had lived in a drought for months; I welcomed the rising flood. I began to regret my decision that I didn't turn anything into the Journal. That gripping fear had arrested me. No matter  -- I promised myself I'd do it next year. I was finally buying into that old illusion again: who says I can make a life through these words?

But they're gone now, I'm sad to say. My excitement and general love for most of my classes have diminished, too. I remember when I was eager, always wanting to share my opinion in class; now I check myself before I open my mouth. What happened to me?

I recently got a letter telling me I've been accepted to study abroad in London next fall -- ever since that letter, all I've wanted is to empty my savings and go. Don't get me wrong, it isn't Wofford -- I love this school and it isn't the one that's changed. It's me. I don't know what it is I need or am searching for, but it isn't here. Whether it's papers or meetings or romantic interests, I'm tired of them all because there isn't any progress. I'm stagnant, glued to the floor when all I want to do is break into a sprint.

I'm very sorry if you read this hoping for any kind of cheer or lesson. If you want the closest thing I can get to a happy ending, here it is: there's a reason they call it a slump -- because you can always get out of it. Though I'm back in my drought, the rain will come again. Besides, you can't live a life of rainy days.

Why Are There No Feminist Fathers?

Tonight I went to hear Carol Adams' talk, "The Sexual Politics of Meat." Though I haven’t had a life-changing epiphany and decided to become a vegan tomorrow, I did come away with a lot of things to think about. More about the sex part of the talk and less about the meat. As I sat in my room after the talk and leafed through her book, I thought about my own life and some ways in which, though I often proclaimed myself to be a feminist, I really wasn't. In fact, I realized, there were many ways in which my boyfriend was truly more of a feminist than I am. He takes a tougher stance on pornography for instance, finding it very unappealing (I understand for some of you that sounds like a mild statement but amongst the men I know, the majority are pretty pro-porn), hates strip clubs, and has strong sexual preferences against any sort of dominance/submission. Though I appreciate these things about him I realized that for as long as we have been together I have viewed these parts of his character as "unmanly" something "quirky" or "different" about him and often even been a bit upset by it. What I realized is that I am playing into the cultural assumptions about what is male, more than he was! My desire for him to be more "manly" at times was the result of my wanting to impose the simplicity of stereotype rather than understand him as an individual. This general revelation led me to think about the role that men can play in feminism. Now some women will argue that men have no place in feminist issues other than that of the oppressor and I will admit that as a social group men are unlikely to ever decide, en masse, to give up all the social privileges that are allowed them and quietly walk away from power, creating true equality for all. I will not go so far as other feminists who claim that men are as oppressed by social constructs as women. To be oppressed is by definition to not be the oppressor. I will say however that men can be hurt and confused and basically messed up because of the same social issues that oppress women (and minorities, and animals if you follow the logic of Adams).

Perhaps I am too optimistic but I do not see the men that are interested in women's rights as opportunists, though I am sure some are. I believe, because I have the joy of speaking to one everyday that some men are honestly and simply concerned with seeing the women they love and respect reach their full potential. Now, don't get me wrong men will never know what its like to be a woman and thus there are some aspects of feminism that are likely to be obtuse to them but this does not negate their role as positive players in the large scheme of equality. It is this very "otherness" that makes them the best person to deliver certain messages. Just as males (and females) can be led, by advertising, the media, consumerist culture etc, to see women as pieces of meat, men can also be led to think the opposite. Men who already see women as individuals, as humans, as non-meat, can influence those who do. All it takes it one guy at a frat party who doesn’t laugh at the sexist joke to ruin the mood. Only one guy to not make cat calls at a women to make his buddies see how stupid they look. One man pointing out the humanity of a woman brings it to light for the others. In many situations, woman cannot do this, if you are already objectified, you can’t be the one to talk. If a man is looking at you and thinking, "sex" or "meat" or "consume" whatever it may be, telling him he is wrong is going to sound no different to him than the script of a porno, or the moo of a cow about to become steak. If it does, it will register as bitching.

Thinking about all this, I began to look forward to the day when I will possibly (if we decide to marry or have children, still haven’t decided how those issues factor into my personal feminist philosophy) raise a child with this wonderful man. I thought how great it would be to grow up with a father who would so fully support his daughter’s independence and free-will, one who will not only allow it, but encourage it; to have a father who will, instead of telling you to stop wearing low cut tops and high heels (in patriarchal culture, the man is head of the family and thus his family under his control i.e. a father who's daughter is showing too much cleavage is not being adequately controlled/monitored; controlling women’s sexuality, etc) tell you that wearing low cut tops and high heels makes you an object of mens visual stimulation and not a human being.

However, a quick web search of “Fathers and feminists” revealed no evidence of such thinking. Every website and group was devoted to “protecting the sacred nature of fatherhood” from evil man-hating feminists. Pages upon pages were devoted to “father’s rights” (an issue that I believe does has merit however) and other, mostly relgious, issues concerning fatherhood. This was not what I was looking for, several edited searches all returned similar results.(To be fair the results for “mothers of feminists” were not promising either) There must be a significant disconnect somewhere in our society if there are not groups devoted to fathers of feminist daughters. (There are groups devoted to anything and everything one can imagine, if you don’t belive me look on Facebook) Are there no feminists out there with fathers worthy of standing beside in the fight for equality? Are there no fathers who see that feminism is important if their daughters are ever going to achieve great things? Are there no feminists willing to admit that some men are good fathers and that the role of a father is not, by nature, a negative one? Where is the problem?

I don’t know the answer, I’m honestly posing a question here, please comment if you have a suggestion.