Recently in Personal Is Political Category

Some of you may have read Anna Clark's fascinating piece in Bitch's last issue on women writers and ambition: "The Ambition Condition: Women, Writing, and the Problem of Success." In it, she looks at the broad and historical landscape of women writing, right up to our present struggles with blog visibility, the gap in op-ed bylines etc. Clark writes:

There's no simple gender indicator for the weird fusion of insecurity and ambition, of the feigned nonchalance and quiet competitiveness that's common in writers of all sorts. But these traits are complicated by the cultural caricatures of ambitious women and the uneven historical patterns that have dictated whose talent is rewarded and whose isn't.

Well, Clark's article had an impact on one wonderful young writer I know; Ms. Martha Polk, decided to out her blog on film in response to the feelings engendered by reading the piece. Martha writes:

For all of her young life, What Is This Light has been a secret blog or at least a semi-secret blog. A couple days ago I read Anna Clark's Bitch Magazine article, "The Ambition Condition: Women, Writing, and the Problem of Success" and it proved at once cathartic and terrifying. Clark says things I already know much too well but couldn't quite articulate...And so, I'm going public. I don't expect much to change around here, but I've mustered enough gumption to really take on this mental paradigm shift.

Check out her newly out and proud blog, What Is This Light, here. And give her some love so she stays in the light.

Thanks to Anna for inspiring women to cure their own ambition conditions.

This picture is from a series of very moving pictures that can be found here. This one was my favorite and has the captions: These two boys waited as a long line of adults greeted Senator Obama before a rally on Martin Luther King Day in Columbia, S.C. They never took their eyes off of him. Their grandmother told me, "Our young men have waited a long time to have someone to look up to, to make them believe Dr. King's words can be true for them." Jan. 21, 2008.

I have never been an overly patriotic person, maybe because I grew up in a South Asian household that dreamed of returning to India, but the role of the US military world-wide has always dampened any belief in the strength or character of the leaders of this "great" country. Despite growing up hearing, "well if you don't like it here, you can always go back to where you came from" more times than I would like to recall, I have always had a love hate relationship with this country that my parents decided to move to in the early 1970's. I claim a US citizenship, but have never felt like a real citizen as most of my life, no one has believed that I am. So yeah, it makes being patriotic for a country that doesn't really see you as part of it, difficult.

But despite my cynicism, I have always worked for the benefit of America, partly because that is the only kind of work available for liberal arts major, but also because I believe in the importance of civic duty. I was a school teacher in some of the most underfunded schools in America that are failing from neglect and racism, I have worked in non-profits and now I am a political writer. Despite my cynicism, like many Americans, I was still committed to making this country a better place. But as a result of the Bush Administrations regressive policies, irrelevant of my commitment to the public sector, I am in debt, I have no money to invest or buy a house or even think about raising a family and, oh yeah, I don't have health insurance. My country has betrayed me.

I voted for Barack Obama because all of these issues are ones that he has talked about and I believe he will change or affect in some capacity that will reinstall the good that comes out of civic minded work. I don't want to regret that I went to college, I don't want to be hateful that I worked for a public school district and I don't want to go into debt if goddess forbid something happens to me or a loved one and we don't have health insurance.

The American dream is bullshit and a ploy to ignore the actual conditions and struggles of people's lives in this country. My parents came to this country for a better life and we have lived a life of struggle and that struggle continues as my parents retire with no savings and limited social security. But even my cynical father said to me last week inspired, I am willing to give Barack Obama a chance because he on some level sees me and understands the struggle of immigrants. The election of Barack Obama will not be the end of our struggle for equitable rights for the people of color and immigrants in this country, but I do believe he is a step in the right direction.

I voted for Obama because I agree with his stance on reproductive justice and will fight to protect my right to choose, I think he will work to get people like me health insurance, I believe that he will fight for me to keep more money in my pocket and most importantly because he wants to begin to talk about stopping the illegal and expensive war in Iraq. I am also voting for Barack Obama because as a person of color in this country, I have never believed or felt that I belonged and I have watched young people of color through my work as a teacher never believe they have a shot. Is Obama's presidency going to all of a sudden solve racism in inner city and rural America? Probably not, but it will be much more effective working to hold someone accountable that at least on some level can understand where you are coming from. I, like many others, am not voting for Barack Obama simply because he is black, but it does mean something different and special to me, to my community, to my friends and to my students. I am still not feeling amazingly patriotic, we have a long way to go, and even writing this post is making me feel a little nauseous (where did radical anti-establishment Samhita go???), but I do think we have the chance to move this country in a better direction. At least I hope so.

Through EngageHer.org and documentary film Engage Her: Getting minority women to lead and vote, founder and CEO Mable Yee is working to get women to the polls -- especially women of color -- millions are registered to vote but don't cast their votes. So why do all those undecideds get so much attention?

Just 10 days to go till the big vote for the next prez. Here's Mable...

Ethar at Muslimah Media Watch calls out "shame cartoons" that target Muslim women.

So as most of you know I am taking some time off from the nitty-gritty of the 9-5, quit my non-profit job and am living at home to work on some writing. Now, I don't generally share a ton of personal stories, mainly because I don't want to be too self indulgent and I don't want to bore you, but this one I just had to share.

When I was 21 I decided the only hope for my personal survival was to move as far away from my strict Hindu parents as possible. My escape from NY was to escape from my parents and what I felt as the suffocating South Asian community we are part of and I found my freedom in San Francisco. Moving back 7 years later was a difficult decision, but I figured I am 30, I am who I am, what can they say to me now?

Before moving in, I set some ground rules for my parents. They were not allowed to talk to me about my lack of allegiance to our religion, my dating and/or marriage status and my weight. I got to give it up to them, they have definitely not bothered me about religion or dating (too much), but they have failed miserably at making comments about my weight.

It's strange to look back on the events of September 11th from such a distance now, and realize how much it has influenced all of us, both personally and politically. I was a senior at Barnard College in 2001, still possessing a sense of absolute invincibility, still pretty faithful in the innate goodness of politicians (even if I acknowledged some corruption), still pretty unabashedly self-focused.

The eerie vision of women bankers finally making it up to 116th with their high heels in hand, soot on their suits, the deep sense of shock and insecurity, the realization that I was so far from my family, changed everything for me--as I know it did for so many young Americans.

And when I think about the ways in which it changed government--pushing big daddy protector politics to the forefront and diplomacy and domestic welfare to the background--it makes me deeply sad. It prompted a whole new generation of violence, death, injury, mental illness, alienation. But it also led to such a chaotic, lost civic landscape, that it catalyzed the American people to hunger for real, bonafide change. And that's where we are today...a place of guarded hope, an ache for renewal, an earned belief in the need for peace.

The personal and the political in its most grave form. The day so many Americans, especially the young, were forced to reckon with our own power or lack thereof.

(Above pic from The New York Times.)

You know that scene in Juno where Ellen Page's character takes pregnancy test after pregnancy test at her local convenience store? Over on the community blog, Aly tells us how the reality can be quite different. She and her friend, both 15-year-olds, went through quite the ordeal trying to buy a simple over-the-counter pregnancy test.

We're in CVS, searching for a pregnancy test. ["Shouldn't they be over here?" "I can't find them! Are they by the tampons?" "Nah, if you're pregnant, you don't need those anymore." "Fuck, should we ask someone?" "Wait, no, I think I found them! No, shit, that's a yeast infection thing." "Aly!" "Sorry! They both make you have to pee on them, I think!" "No, you stick the yeast infection one up your snatch." "Ew, seriously? Sick." "This is not the time for commentary on the world of yeast infections!"]

As you can see, it was quite an adventure.

We finally find them in a small little corner marked 'Family Planning', and we search for the right one. An EPT boasts TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE! for thirteen dollars, so we grab that one: two tests means extra reassurance. C.'s hands are shaking so hard that the box is rattling, so I take it away from her and go up to the counter.

The woman in front of us has practically done her grocery shopping here, and is paying in dimes and quarters. We wait for five minutes, Courtney watching the door for my mom.[who is in the car, innocently thinking we are getting pads.] Finally the woman is done, and I plop the pregnancy test on the counter. The clerk is in her late forties, and looks at me, pops her gum, and says, "I'm gonna have to see some ID."

Read the rest. (It's official: I'm in love with our community bloggers.)

The following was written by a good friend of mine about her experiences with vulvodynia, otherwise known as really bad, unexplained pain in your vagina. She wanted to write this anonymously, for obvious reasons ... like the fact that her treatment involved something called the "Ballsy Supercock." OK, seriously, this is an important women's health issue, and I urge you all to read her words. --Ann

I was always prone to yeast infections, so when the vaginal pain started, about a year and a half ago, I assumed that was what it was. The opening of my vagina was too raw for sex, and riding my bike was painful, too; any pressure made it feel like there was a sharp blade under my skin. I bought Monistat and treated it and thought nothing of it - until it didn't stop. About a month later, I finally went to my gynecologist, who told me I didn't have a yeast infection, and in fact she didn't know what I had, but I should just keep wearing cotton underpants and washing after I swam or had sex. Time passed, while I spent an inordinate amount of money on CVS yeast infection medication, but the pain never went fully away. After another six months or so, I went back to the doctor, who poked at my vulva with a Q-Tip and, when I almost jumped out of the stirrups with pain, told me I might have vulvar vestibulitis.

Vulvar vestibulitis is a form of vulvodynia, the umbrella term for "unexplained but really bad vaginal pain." It's characterized by burning pain and inflammation in the vaginal region due to a hugely increased development of nerve endings, sometimes - but not always -- traceable to an initial irritant (like, for example, over-the-counter yeast infection medication). It is very poorly understood and commonly misdiagnosed. Of the 13 million American women (that's one out of six!) who experience vulvodynia every year, it's estimated that half don't even know what they have. These numbers are particularly maddening given how debilitating the condition can be: Women with really bad vulvodynia can become unable to walk, wear pants, or sit without pain, and it can last for years or even for a lifetime. Imagine, by contrast, how the medical community would approach a disorder that made any friction unbearably painful for one in six penises.

So I was sitting with one of my favorite 18-year-old superstars a few days ago at Cosi near Union Square, chatting about life, WAM, sexual politics, college, social change, when all of the sudden this guy posted up outside on the street and started starring at us through the window. I didn't want to jump to any conclusions so I just kept on talking with my mentee, and then he inched closer and I realized he was looking directly at our feet and rubbing his dick through the pocket of his jeans. Um, yes, he was masturbating to our feet. I got up and got a manager, at which point dude ran off.

This is the third time that I've been in a public place, minding my own business, and had a guy masturbate near me--the first time was when I was 16-years-old having a picnic in the park near my house, the second was at Smokin' Grooves Tour in the late 90s (yes, I'm that old).

When I brought up this experience to friends, just about every one of them had a similar story, but we all realized there's no real name for this kind of violation. It doesn't even get brought up that much, it seems to me. So I'm reaching out to y'all and asking...does this shit happen to you? Do you think we should name it? Or does it already have a name that I don't know about?

I know the Holla Back crew has created a great way to respond to being harrassed on the street, but this feels different, right?

Reader Deanna sent us a copy of this letter she wrote to Safeway about her experience buying groceries there with WIC (Women, Infants and Children) checks. I'll let her speak for herself:

I am a mother of two children, a full time student and full supporter of my family and because of that I have been on WIC to help with groceries. I have been on WIC for about 5 years now and have always gone to Safeway to purchase my items. I have run into amazing checkers that have been courteous and kind every time, but I have also had my share of checkers that seem outright annoyed with me due to having WIC and because it takes a little longer process to go through with my checks.

I have dealt with these rude people and have talked to managers, but I have never felt so hurt and embarrassed to be on WIC as I had on the day I showed up to your California store Wednesday, November 7, 2007. I had picked up my items and went to check out. I first noticed the bagger that just finished the person ahead of me and as soon as he saw me pull out my WIC checks, he left. I let it go until I approached the checker let him know that I had WIC. Keep in mind that because I know it is a longer process to go through, I make sure that all my items are in order and just try to do my best to speed up the process for you guys and the people in line behind me.

So, what it's like to be a woman who's over 6 feet tall?

To begin with, to be extra-tall is to be somehow more public than the average woman. Everybody sees me. Strangers on the subway peer upward and tell me about their childhood neighbor who was tall. Fellow grocery shoppers sheepishly request my help procuring items from upper shelves. Male passers-by mutter, "That was one giant woman." Men seem particularly inclined to register one characteristic: tall.

I'd add to that: Fratty dudes in bars will chant "6 footer!" or loudly make bets with each other about how tall I am. (Well, I've actually had restaurant wait staff and fellow wedding guests make bets, too, so maybe it's unfair to pin that one on the bros alone.) People stare openly, all the time, everywhere I go. There are some days, namely those when I'm wearing whopping 1-inch heels, that I feel like I leave a ripple of height comments in my wake. Small children point and say, "Mommy! Look at the giant lady!" Women who feel insecure about their own height will often say to me, "I wish I was that tall!" No, honey, you don't. Really.

But it does have certain benefits.