The Good Witch and the F-Word

A couple of days ago, I had tea with a number of intelligent and stylish and (happily) progressive women. After the usual civilities ("Where do you live?" "What do you do?") and several cucumber sandwiches, the conversation turned toward the current attack on Planned Parenthood. Several of the group were a decade or so older than I, and had been active in the 1974 fight for the ERA. (I was only 12 at the time, but thanks to my best friend's famous feminist mother, I was acutely aware of the women's rights movement.) As we refreshed our tea and moved on to petits fours and chocolate covered strawberries, we bemoaned the fact that our daughters and granddaughters don't have enough feminist role models.

For many young women, the F-word (no, not that one) isn't cool anymore. It's become synonymous with "man-hater" or "lesbian." When Shailene Woodley, the young star of the Divergent dystopian action series was asked "Do you consider yourself a feminist?" she answered this way:

"No because I love men, and I think the idea of ‘raise women to power, take the men away from the power’ is never going to work out because you need balance. With myself, I’m very in touch with my masculine side. And I’m 50 percent feminine and 50 percent masculine, same as I think a lot of us are. And I think that is important to note. And also I think that if men went down and women rose to power, that wouldn’t work either. We have to have a fine balance."

I'd argue that she's 50 percent ignorant and 50 percent immature. And 100 percent silly. But, that's just my opinion.

Happily, my daughter and her cohorts do have a marvelous role model — and it's someone they grew up with. Emma Watson, best known as the overachieving little witch from the Harry Potter movies and recent Ivy League graduate, became a Goodwill Ambassador for UN Women last year. 


Here is a speech she made in its entirety (if you'd rather watch it, click here):

Today we are launching a campaign called for HeForShe. I am reaching out to you because we need your help. We want to end gender inequality, and to do this, we need everyone involved. This is the first campaign of its kind at the UN. We want to try to mobilize as many men and boys as possible to be advocates for change. And, we don’t just want to talk about it. We want to try and make sure that it’s tangible.
I was appointed as Goodwill Ambassador for UN Women six months ago. And, the more I spoke about feminism, the more I realized that fighting for women’s rights has too often become synonymous with man-hating. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that this has to stop.

For the record, feminism by definition is the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities. It is the theory of political, economic and social equality of the sexes.

I started questioning gender-based assumptions a long time ago. When I was 8, I was confused for being called bossy because I wanted to direct the plays that we would put on for our parents, but the boys were not. When at 14, I started to be sexualized by certain elements of the media. When at 15, my girlfriends started dropping out of sports teams because they didn’t want to appear muscly. When at 18, my male friends were unable to express their feelings.

I decided that I was a feminist, and this seemed uncomplicated to me. But my recent research has shown me that feminism has become an unpopular word. Women are choosing not to identify as feminists. Apparently, I’m among the ranks of women whose expressions are seen as too strong, too aggressive, isolating, and anti-men. Unattractive, even.

Why has the word become such an uncomfortable one? I am from Britain, and I think it is right I am paid the same as my male counterparts. I think it is right that I should be able to make decisions about my own body. I think it is right that women be involved on my behalf in the policies and decisions that will affect my life. I think it is right that socially, I am afforded the same respect as men.

But sadly, I can say that there is no one country in the world where all women can expect to see these rights. No country in the world can yet say that they achieved gender equality. These rights, I consider to be human rights, but I am one of the lucky ones.

My life is a sheer privilege because my parents didn’t love me less because I was born a daughter. My school did not limit me because I was a girl. My mentors didn't assume that I would go less far because I might give birth to a child one day. These influences were the gender equality ambassadors that made me who I am today. They may not know it, but they are the inadvertent feminists that are changing the world today. We need more of those.

And if you still hate the word, it is not the word that is important. It’s the idea and the ambition behind it, because not all women have received the same rights I have. In fact, statistically, very few have.

In 1997, Hillary Clinton made a famous speech in Beijing about women’s rights. Sadly, many of the things that she wanted to change are still true today. But what stood out for me the most was that less than thirty percent of the audience were male. How can we effect change in the world when only half of it is invited or feel welcome to participate in the conversation?

Men, I would like to take this opportunity to extend your formal invitation. Gender equality is your issue, too. Because to date, I’ve seen my father’s role as a parent being valued less by society, despite my need of his presence as a child, as much as my mother’s. I’ve seen young men suffering from mental illness, unable to ask for help for fear it would make them less of a man. In fact, in the UK, suicide is the biggest killer of men between 20 to 49, eclipsing road accidents, cancer and coronary heart disease. I’ve seen men made fragile and insecure by a distorted sense of what constitutes male success. Men don’t have the benefits of equality, either.
We don’t often talk about men being imprisoned by gender stereotypes, but I can see that they are, and that when they are free, things will change for women as a natural consequence. If men don’t have to be aggressive in order to be accepted, women won’t feel compelled to be submissive. If men don’t have to control, women won’t have to be controlled.

Both men and women should feel free to be sensitive. Both men and women should feel free to be strong. It is time that we all perceive gender on a spectrum, instead of two sets of opposing ideals. If we stop defining each other by what we are not, and start defining ourselves by who we are, we can all be freer, and this is what HeForShe is about. It’s about freedom.

I want men to take up this mantle so that their daughters, sisters, and mothers can be free from prejudice, but also so that their sons have permission to be vulnerable and human too, reclaim those parts of themselves they abandoned, and in doing so, be a more true and complete version of themselves.

You might be thinking, “Who is this Harry Potter girl, and what is she doing speaking at the UN?” And, it’s a really good question. I’ve been asking myself the same thing.
All I know is that I care about this problem, and I want to make it better. And, having seen what I’ve seen, and given the chance, I feel it is my responsibility to say something.
Statesman Edmund Burke said, “All that is needed for the forces of evil to triumph is for good men and women to do nothing.”

In my nervousness for this speech and in my moments of doubt, I told myself firmly, “If not me, who? If not now, when?” If you have similar doubts when opportunities are presented to you, I hope those words will be helpful. Because the reality is that if we do nothing, it will take seventy-five years, or for me to be nearly 100, before women can expect to be paid the same as men for the same work. 15.5 million girls will be married in the next 16 years as children. And at current rates, it won't be until 2086 before all rural African girls can have a secondary education.

If you believe in equality, you might be one of those inadvertent feminists that I spoke of earlier, and for this, I applaud you. We are struggling for a uniting word, but the good news is, we have a uniting movement. It is called HeForShe. I invite you to step forward, to be seen and to ask yourself, “If not me, who? If not now, when?”

Thank you very, very much.

No, Hermione, thank you.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Candidates and Cargo Pants

We were returning home from a weekend in New York. As we crossed the border and got onto the Mass Turnpike, we put the radio on and I heard that Hillary Clinton would be signing copies of her new book in Harvard Square the following week.

I immediately sent myself an email reminder. There was no way I was going to miss it.

Several years ago, I was one of those people who felt, not just sad that Clinton pulled out of the presidential race but, downright betrayed. Not by her, certainly. No one could accuse her of giving it any less than her all. I was angry at my country — a place that is made up of slightly more women than men (just under 51% according to the 2013 Census), but still couldn't accept a woman in the White House. I was particularly bitter about my own friends and their half-assed excuses:

"Hillary isn't electable."

"She's too harsh."

And my favorite, "I have nothing against a woman president. Just not that woman."

Well, I was pretty excited by the prospect of meeting that woman. The tickets would go fast (Cambridge is a very blue town in a very blue state), so I asked my team of experts for help. My husband and teenage daughter are concert groupies (different bands for sure, but same level of dedication). They are adept at scoring even the most elusive tickets. I was advised to go onto the event website just before the sale started and then hit "refresh," "refresh," refresh."

It worked!

I was so startled when the screen suddenly came up asking how many tickets I wanted (limit: 2) that I almost hit "refresh" again. But, I didn't and within a minute or so, my transaction was complete. Good thing, because within three minutes or so, the event was sold out.

On the order page, on the confirmation page, on the tickets themselves and on multiple email reminders to come, I was given a list of rules surrounding the event. When we could line up, when we would get wristbands, when the doors would open. What we could — or more specifically could not — bring in with us. No bags (even purses). No cameras. Everything had to fit in a pocket.

I joked to my husband that between IDs, wallet, car keys and phone, I would have to wear cargo pants.

"Not a pretty look," he texted back.

Nevertheless, that's what I ended up wearing. Black silky cargo pants (with generous pockets) and an embroidered white blouse. I also wore comfortable shoes. Even with tickets in hand, we'd be standing on line for a long time.

My husband is a Hillary supporter, but we agreed that it would be better to use the second coveted ticket for our daughter. She was very happy to forego homework and she was a lot less stressed about what to wear (probably because all of her things ended up in my pockets). 

By the time we got to Harvard Square, the line stretched the equivalent of two and a half blocks. (It snaked back from Mass Ave, past the Harvard Crimson, the old Hasty Pudding and the Harvard Lampoon, as well as many coffee shops to which we did not go, having been warned that there were no restrooms in the bookstore.) Over the nearly three hours we waited, the line continued to grow. In fact, we were (as our wristbands indicated) numbers 430 and 431 out of the thousand who attended.

There were secret service, which was very cool. And metal detectors. There were Cambridge police officers too. But despite the barricades and checkpoints, the atmosphere was like a party. Like a party of smart, determined women. (I would say the female/male ratio was about 10-to-1.) The conversations naturally drifted toward our childhoods, our education, our experience with feminism. 

And our utter support for the yet undeclared candidate we were about to meet.

Finally, we got into the bookstore itself, only to find that the line snaked through virtually every bookcase. There was an excited buzz that, despite official notices to the contrary, HRC was posing for selfies. Unfortunately, the rather humorless men and women there to protect her soon put a stop to that. But, we were still pretty thrilled.

Ms. Clinton was absolutely lovely. She cordially thanked me for coming and signed "Hillary" in bright blue across the front page of her book. (Apparently we're on a first name basis now. Me and my BFF Hill.) I thanked her back (for too much to get into), but my daughter was less tongue-tied.

"I just wanted to tell you that 2016 will be my first presidential election. And, I'm going to vote for you."

Hillary smiled broadly and then laughed. "How old are you?" she asked.

"Sixteen."

"Well, that's just great. You have a good summer."

We were politely, but firmly, moved along and neither of us could stop grinning until we reached Panera and our after-hours dinner.

It continues to amaze me that my daughter, who is too shy to speak up at book club or join a cafeteria table of classmates she only sorta, kinda knows, holds her own with rockstars.

And future presidents.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.