The Limits of Academic Feminism

I was musing on the annoying (and often oppressive) nature of many academy-educated feminists after a dear friend came to me ranting about the antics of a mutual acquaintance.

To clarify, by academy-educated feminist, I don't mean a feminist that has been educated in academia or holds a degree in higher education. I mean feminists who received all or most of their education about feminisms in the academy, whose entire view of feminism has been shaped solely by the power dynamics present in each and every university classroom (yes, even the gender studies courses).

Looking back, my gender studies classes provided very little of what makes up my identity as Feminist today. I left school gung-ho about abortion rights and, while I had some vocabulary to discuss intersectionality, my Feminism was largely limited and, at times, point-blank oppressive.

This isn't uncommon. Look at any syllabus for a survey feminist theory course and you'll find pretty much the same format:

• First Wave Feminism - Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, suffrage, and a white lady's account of Sojourner Truth.
• Second Wave Feminism - Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem, Roe v. Wade, Title IX. 
• The 1980s - Catherine MacKinnon, Andrea Dworkin and the "feminist sex wars." Poststructuralist feminism, featuring Judith Butler and the obligatory mind blowing of fresh-faced academes. 
• Third Wave Feminism - Really just "We're going to spend a month reading Jennifer Baumgardner."
• Literally one or two weeks to "cover" non-mainstream feminisms - Black feminism, transfeminism, sex-positive feminism, cross-continental feminism, etc.

See the issue? All the mainstream stuff is taught chronologically, and if we have time at the end, we're going to go back in time to cover "the other stuff" that "doesn't fit" within the feminisms we're already familiar with.

A bunch of gender studies professors relegating "other" feminisms to the back of the syllabus isn't a huge surprise, of course (as I said, university power dynamics). The worst part about this trend is the five minute feelgood spiel they'd always give at the end: "Let's take a moment to reflect on how it's problematic to teach gender studies this way. ... Okay, have a great summer!"

Wait, hold on! Did you just say that everything you've been doing all semester is problematic? Can we talk about that for a moment? Maybe think of solutions?

No, because class is dismissed and everyone is jumping up from their seats to head to their next class.

(Besides, the professor's problematic syllabus probably won't be on the final.)

My Doula Identity Crisis

For a number of reasons, I'm toying with not recertifying with DONA International next year. (The reasons are best left to a different post.) When considering my options for a new certifying organization, an interesting thought crossed my mind: why recertify at all?

Think about it. Doulas are not medical professionals; there is no such thing as "practicing labor support without a license." It doesn't take a sheet of paper and a nametag to offer holistic pregnancy and labor support. It takes training, knowledge, and most of all, a committment to your cause.

Your cause. And what is my cause? This whole inner dialogue, do I recertify or not, has driven me into a sort of Doula Identity Crisis.

Credentials or not, I am a Doula. I have always been one, and while I haven't always attended births (or, for that matter, attached that term to what I do), I have always played the Supporting Role in whatever challenge my friends and acquaintances are facing. Learning this about myself has given me the opportunity to playfully attach the term to many aspects of my life. Listening to a friend work through issues with her partner? Relationship Doula. Volunteering at Transformus' Sanctuary? Burn Doula. My partner mentioned his fire department's auxiliary. What I heard? Fire Doulas.

What we've come to forget - strangely enough - is that doulas have been attending births long before it was a paid profession. In fact we hear this history when we attend the trainings: women have been assisting women through childbirth for probably as long as childbirth has existed. Many mammals (i.e., elephants!) doula each other through labor. We know this, and yet we have allowed "those who are doulas" to be separated from "those who are not doulas" by a mess of paperwork, fees, and credentials. Even my local professional association of doulas separates certified doulas from non-certified doulas with the categories Certified Doulas and Trained Doulas Working Toward Certification.

Which leads me to ask again, What The Hell Are We Doing?

There must have been something in the air, because right as I started questioning this whole notion that "doulas are paid professionals with credentials," Miriam Perez penned an article on this very topic. She muses:

I think doula work is valuable and important, and I also don’t believe the essence of doula work—non-judgmental and unconditional support for pregnant and parenting people—needs to be locked away in a system that says only a certain amount of training, certificates, or other paperwork bestows upon someone the right to provide this support. We run the risk of replicating the model we’re trying to revolutionize. And I don’t think that is where real social change happens.

Let me pause for a moment and say that, had it not been for my training and push towards credentialing, I would not harbor the knowledge and skills I have today. I see the need for these trained and certified doulas that charge for their services, and I hope to remain one of them for a very long time. The work is invaluable, and charging for services rightfully reimburses us for the hours upon hours spent with someone's family (read: away from ours). It also helps to set a standard of practice so that families know what to expect - and not expect - from a prospective doula.

But as Perez rightly notes, we could be defeating our cause by over-stressing the importance of these things.

Last month, this piece sparked some heated discussion on my Facebook feed. On the one hand, I agree with the author that valuing our work and not selling ourselves short is important. On the other, her point completely ignores the vast number of families who should not be denied trained labor support simply because they cannot front a $500-$1000+ payment to someone who, let's face it, isn't exactly a mandatory part of the birthing process. This population, the under-served and often less educated, needs doula services the most. They are more likely to lack a constant support person throughout the process. They are more likely to be "rushed through the machine" of the hospital system. They are less likely to feel positive about their experiences. They need doulas, and anyone who says I'm "cheapening the profession" by volunteering my time to help someone have the birth they want needs to reassess the reasons they became a doula in the first place.

Fast forward to today. I have a client with one of the more medical physicians practices in this city. They've scheduled an induction for Monday, four days after her estimated due date, because "baby is measuring big." After venting about the obvious issues to a friend, I found myself thinking, "I just need to stop taking clients with this practice."

Woah woah woah woah. What am I saying?

Suppose for a moment I wasn't her doula simply because of who her doctor is. And say all other doulas felt the same way. This mama would still be induced on Monday, but I wouldn't be there to support her through it. No one would, and with a practice like this, it's these women that need my support most.

I'm envious of the doulas who "only attend home births" or "only work with patients of midwives." They are helping to support a certain portion of the population that deserves a doula as much as anyone, and I'm not saying their work as doulas is less important (far from it). However, if their goal is to only work with care providers that are already extra supportive of natural chlidbirth, then I can only imagine their mission differs from mine.

Thing is, I get it. I love working with the midwives, not worrying about contradicting a care provider's advice, not having to hide granola bars under hospital gowns, avoiding unnecessary interventions, etc. I'm excited to have two clients next month who are having water births.

But my mission is to help every person have a supported and satisfying birth. For everyone experiencing abortion or miscarriage to be validated and supported throughout the process. For all my friends and people I care about to have a non-judgmental ear, to have their backs rubbed when they need it, to be reminded to just simply take care of themselves. I'm not doing that if I'm limiting the population I'm willing to work with, and I'm certainly not doing that if I'm more concerned with my credentials and fee schedule than I am my ability to simply be there.

I have a lot to think about over the next year when my DONA certification expires. Do I want to certify with another organization? Let it go and work without cert? Does it even matter? I'm not entirely sure. What I am sure of is this: if I look at myself in the mirror and can say with confidence, "I am a Doula," I know I'm on the right track.

The Gun Thing

A lot of people don't realize that I am in no way against responsible gun ownership. I'm not a huge fan of the things, but I've shot them and - aside from that incident at summer camp where I accidentally killed a bird - I rather enjoyed the experience.

What I am against, however, are the people who incoherently rail on about the Second Amendment while not being able to tell you what, exactly, the Second Amendment actually says. Or those who evoke said amendment without understanding the context in which it was written, or the reasons why that context is deeply problematic in and of itself.

I am against any discourse that doesn't take into account the mess of white privilege tangled up in every cry for the right to keep and bear firearms. The way we push for armed guards in suburban elementary schools without any mention of the way such guards have impacted inner-city learning institutions, led to increased police brutality within schools, and reinforced the growing school-to-prison pipeline.

I am against the way we explain away mass shootings by white people with simple phrases like "mental illness" while blaming "thuggish" black kids for their own death at the hands of a firearm (and never suggesting they should have been carrying for their own self defense).

Those who look at George Zimmerman and believe he was truly justified in his right to self defense, but make not a peep when Melissa Alexander gets thrown away for firing warning shot near her abusive ex-husband.

Those who co-opt the language of sexual violence prevention only when it suits their pro-gun agenda, coincidentally ignoring the countless instances where possession of a firearm has made women more vulnerable to death from abuse and assault. Not to mention that this idea - that women should carry as "rape prevention" - reinforces rape culture by placing emphasis on me being responsible for protecting myself and not on a collective effort to combat systematic sexual oppression.

Those who don't see how making a case for more gun rights after a tragedy is markedly different from making a case for ways we can keep them from happening again.

Those things. I'm against those things, not gun ownership itself.

And yet, when I bring up any number of these issues, I am summarily accused by my culture's blind affinity for dichotomy of being "against responsible gun ownership." Of being a "bleeding heart liberal who wants big government to take away my rights."

I'm done with it. I am so tired of the dichotomy, of being put into defense mode, of feeling the need to relive the night I was nearly raped just to get my point across, of having my commitment to individual freedom called into question by folks with no visible care for collective justice.

So this is my final statement on the matter, one that I will probably be copy/pasting for years to come: I have no problem with your right to purchase and keep a firearm. I have a problem with you not recognizing the ways in which your arguments are ignorant, short-sighted, and oppressive.

The Nice Guy Hijacker

For better or worse, rape culture has become an increasingly popular topic of conversation in both feminist and non-feminist circles alike. From politicians shooting themselves in the foot to survivors being empowered to speak about their experiences, conversations about sexual violence have pushed their way to the forefront of sociopolitical discourse.

Let me pause here to say that I define rape culture as a culture in which rape and sexual violence against oppressed and sexually-vulnerable people are systematically excused, tolerated, or condoned. One does not have to actually assault someone to perpetuate rape culture: one may contribute to rape culture by participating in victim blaming, by diminishing the importance of consent, by making or excusing "rape jokes," or simply by denying the existence of sexual oppression. Rape culture is also perpetuated by other kinds of attacks including sexual harassment and the use of sexually oppressive language.

I also wish to clarify that rape culture does not only affect women. Any number of oppressed people are likely to find themselves vulnerable to sexual attack at one point or another. Cis-women receive a large portion of attention in this area, but LGBTQ folks and incarcerated people are also highly vulnerable to being attacked or oppressed as a result of rape culture. And while heterosexual cis-men are occasionally assaulted by female attackers, patriarchy continues maintain the hierarchies that perpetuate the cycle of sexual violence, even when the assault is perpetrated by women.

That being said, this whole "nice guy non-rapist" thing has got to stop. On more than one occasion over the past week, I have been engaged in deep and respectful conversations about rape culture only to have the thread hijacked by some guy's pious remarks about his status as a "non-rapist."

One such incident was a Facebook thread where a person had inquired about the needs of assault survivors in health care. The original poster was a health care worker and wanted to know how she could provide respectful and compassionate care to folks with a history of sexual assault. A respondent replied by sharing her experience in detail: a survivor of an abusive relationship that included many instances of rape and emotional abuse, she spoke candidly about how she feels the health care system has failed her. Others came forth to offer support, sharing our own experiences about times we've felt violated in one way or another. The conversation was absolutely enlightening, respectful, and supportive. There was a sense of camaraderie and sisterhood even though many of us didn't know each other in real life. Then came the Hijacker.

"Can I just say I'm really happy to be a part of this conversation. I'm proud to say I'm not a rapist and I never will be. I don't understand how a guy could do that to someone." And just like that, the conversation was over. No one responded. No one continued to share.

It's difficult to navigate this kind of thing. On the one hand, wasn't he just offering his support? Wasn't he just vocalizing his appreciation that our conversation was happening? Wasn't he just, dare I say, being nice?

I'm positive that these are things he thought he was doing, and in that respect it's very difficult to tell him not to do them. But whether the he knew it or not, his entry into the conversation was unwelcome. It hijacked a situation where people with shared experiences were listening to and learning from one another. It silenced us, and his claims of being "a part of this conversation" just added insult to injury. However, to tell him these things - to suggest he butt out - would likely be met with hostility, not to mention those cries of "I was just being nice" that fatigue me to no end.

And again, I don't doubt he felt he was doing a good thing by letting us know he supported us and had no intention of raping any of us. But you can't argue with results: these kinds of comments - whether it's a guy saying he's not a misogynist or a while person saying they're not racist - always bring conversations about oppression to a screeching halt. It violates the safe space that individuals with shared experiences have built for their own use. Not to mention, it smacks of masturbatory self-importance, a person's way of acknowledging that oppression exists while summarily excusing themselves of any way they might have contributed to it.

Now one could argue that this was Facebook, and doesn't everybody have the right to comment? This is true, however, just because you can doesn't mean you should. There is value in silencing yourself to make space for voices that are usually silenced. Those of us with a certain amount of privilege find this a difficult pill to swallow. We've known our entire lives that we have the right to free speech. We should speak our minds and anyone who tells us otherwise is violating our rights. But again, just because you can doesn't mean you should; you can make space for others to claim that same right simply by curbing your claim to it.

So the next question here is likely to be, if you shouldn't speak up in these conversations, what should you do?

Put simply, you should learn that you don't get a medal for not being an asshole. You should accept that you don't deserve thanks for being an ally, but rather see your desire to be an ally as a charge to never stop examining your role in the oppression of others. Most of all, however, you should shut up and listen. You should make space for other voices, and you should do so because it's the right thing to do, not because people will thank you for it (they won't).

But if you still have that desire to get rewarded for your valiant efforts at not being a rapist, I can offer you this:

That moment when you learn your client's doc is a flaming antichoicer...

I have a client due in a couple of months who is under the care of an obstetrician I've yet to meet. I asked the mama-to-be a few simple questions about his philosophy, how she's felt about her care thus far, etc. But of course I like to do my own research so I know what to expect when the day arrives.

So I found the Facebook page of this doctor's medical practice. The first thing I noticed was that it's affiliated with a large, multi-state health care network that runs a few hospitals and many physician-led practices. But then I noted a prevalence of anti-abortion, anti-contraception, and even anti-LGBTIQ links. (Because having a position on gay marriage so relates to the process of pregnancy and childbirth.) Overall, I'm thinking at this point that this is highly unprofessional. Divisive social issues have no place on the professional page of a medical practice.

The furthest I go on my doula business' page is promote myself as someone who is inclusive regardless of family structure, is experienced in supporting families through all kinds of loss, and believes that quality health care is a human right. These are the least divisive ways I can think to pen it. But it translates broadly without me taking a clear and divisive position on the issues: an LGBTIQ person or a family with a non-traditional structure will know that I will respect them and want to work with them. A person who's choosing to terminate as well as a person who will experience unintended loss will know I can support them as well. There is such a thing as marketing yourself towards certain types of people without taking divisive hard-line positions on things.

And I think I'm pretty good at it. I've had doula clients tell me straight up that they are personally against abortion. Since they were planning a birth, it wasn't an issue, even when they knew I had a different view. And we worked well together with compassion and respect. I don't hide the fact that I'm pro-choice and inclusive of all individuals and family structures; my philosophy has always been that if my sociopolitical beliefs are going to turn you off from me, there's probably also some personality traits that will make me a bad fit, and I am not the right doula for you. But that doesn't mean I flaunt my beliefs to countless families that might be looking for someone to support them through the birth of their child, especially when it's completely irrelevant to their situation.

Let me say this: he's open about it, and I respect that. And honestly, he's free to run his practice in whatever way he pleases. But the affiliation with one of our state's largest, secular health care networks... that is what's getting to me.

That and the privilege. OH THE PRIVILEGE. That someone can publicize their views on the most divisive social issues all over their business page and not have to worry about it hurting their business is the definition of privilege. Like the small businesses - landscaping, towing, etc - that have Jesus fish on their logos. Can you imagine what would happen if a business put the Muslim star and crescent on their marketing materials? Forget losing customers, in some areas their business would be viciously attacked, verbally or worse.

Whatever. He'll be the guy at the foot of the bed, catching my client's baby. He's a supporter of natural childbirth, and hell, he's the one that pushed her to consider a doula in the first place. I can get past his publicly-stated conservative views so long as he treats her with respect and honors her wishes. I'm not there for him, I'm there for her.

"Rejection" Video: From viral video to assault epidemic

Totally not discussing the election today. Because really... no.

There's a video a lot of people are posting where a boy toddler is repeatedly and aggressively pressing himself against a girl toddler despite her continued efforts to push him away. People are absolutely cooing over it, remarking at how adorable it is and "awe he's in love," and "oh look that little girl is so assertive and cute."

I gotta say, it's not friggin cute. It's an absolute disregard of this little girl’s boundaries. Then there's the adult behind the camera, giggling and doing nothing... how disgusting. And how analogous it is to when grown men don’t take no for an answer, no matter how much a woman pushes and shoves and says no.

You might say, but they're just babies. They don't know any better. "Boys will be boys." Oh yeah? And at what age, exactly, does this kind of invasive behavior become "not okay," because I've heard people use the same excuse for college-aged men who sexually harass women. And what better time to teach someone that pushing himself (or herself) upon a person who clearly doesn't want to be touched is not fucking okay? Instead, we film it and redistribute it all over the internet, cooing and laughing. Gross.

This is how we teach boys not to respect women’s spaces.

Feminism and the Case of the Shrinking Costume

This is going around the interwebs today:

The Evolution of Girls' Halloween Costumes

I've made it a policy not to engage in debate with the friends of acquaintances, but when the friend of a friend commented on Facebook that feminism, secularism, and sex positivity were to blame for this phenomenon, I decided to come here to discuss the many ways she's wrong.

Patriarchy manifests itself differently in different cultures. In theocracies, it may come with the expectation that a woman remain completely modest in dress and behavior, norms that may or may not be enforced by law. In our capitalist society, however, patriarchy manifests as the idea that our bodies - and our sexualities - are commodities to be bought and sold, cheered on and exploited by the standards of the male gaze.

The common theme is that our bodies are not our own; they are controlled by a system of oppression, or sometimes even by another human being directly. Whether we're being forced to cover ourselves against our will or made to believe that our only worth comes in being sexy for another person's enjoyment, it's all patriarchy, and it's all intensely detrimental.

So the sexy costumes. I have friends who enjoy them immensely. But you know what? They're grown adults who have chosen - though likely through a lifetime of socialization - to don very skimpy outfits on Halloween, at parties, etc. Most of them wouldn't be caught dead in a Halloween store's $10 faux corset, but at a glance their wardrobe choices appear similar to the costumes I tend to roll my eyes at. Which is to say, I don't exactly cheer on the practice, but I do respect it as a means of self-expression, a reflection of our patriarchal society though it may be.

It gets hairy when you start parsing "choice" and "autonomy" with the knowledge that we do not exist in a vacuum, that all our behaviors and choices are influenced by the way we've been brought up. But what we can probably all agree on is that the availability of these ever-shrinking costumes - and the disappearance of other options - pollutes the minds of girls from a very early age. If from a young age a girl consistently sees nothing but outfits that highlight her chest and fall far above her knee, how can we even begin to hope that she will be able to express her sexuality autonomously as an adult?

Make no mistakes... the sexualization of young girls is not the result of feminism, secularism, or sex positivity (ideals that all deem autonomous decision making and healthy sexuality of high value). No, childhood sexualization comes, not surprisingly, from our culture's version of patriarchy: a capitalist view that sees bodies as objects to be bought and sold.

The Waiters

So this came to my attention today.

Okay, for the record, being sex positive means not judging people for their sexual tastes and practices. And that includes not judging folks who, how to put this, "wait" until they're married to do the deed. I certainly don't judge the author of the above article for his relationship choices, despite the fact that he probably thinks I do. Don't get me wrong, I think it's a way outdated concept riddled with oppressive societal norms, but as a friend of mine likes to say, "If abstinence is your fetish, who am I to judge?"

The issue I have with "The Waiters" is that they're so fucking high and mighty about it. They think that the rest of us - the slutty promiscuous sinners who surely will never find true happiness because we just "give it away" to anything that moves - actually want the same things but just don't have the strength or moral integrity to "do things right."

WHICH IS PATHETIC. It's a dream world. I never harbored some uber-sanctified idea of my "virginity." I don't believe "virginity" is even a real physiological state; to me, it's a social construct kept locked up behind a facade of bunk science and poor understanding of reproductive anatomy. And again, if you want to place value on the concept of virginity, then by all means. That's your business. But don't start pulling information from a 19th century textbook to tell me that all women bleed like a slaughtered pig the first time they have intercourse.

So no, I never saw much value in waiting until marriage, in the concept of my supposed "virginity." Does that mean I don't respect myself or my body? Have poor self esteem? Need to "give it up" to keep a man around? Hardly. Let's look at the facts: I have never had sex with someone because I needed to be validated. The only time I've ever had sex under any kind of pressure that surpassed my own autonomy was in a bad relationship that needed to end (a married relationship, at that).

Bad relationship drama aside, I have remained very sexually autonomous in a world that would love to see me otherwise. To start, I was very well educated, mostly by my private (but not religious) school which actually taught comprehensive sex education. The first time I had sex, I was just a few days shy of 17. My boyfriend and I talked it over, we evolved to a place where becoming sexual with one another was something we were both comfortable with, and oh yeah, WE USED PROTECTION. And you know what? I don't regret a thing.

I understand that I'm treading into becoming high and mighty myself, so I want to interject here that I am not trying victim blame. I understand that sexual relationships are far too often entered into for unhealthy reasons, and I believe good, moral people fall into the traps set by a system of inequality between the sexes. So let me say this: anyone who manipulates someone else into having sex with them is a stain upon the wonderful world of human sexuality. The people who fall for it are generally socialized to do so by a system of capitalist patriarchy, which teaches us (particularly those of us with girl parts) that sex is a commodity to be bought and sold while simultaneously shaming us for taking part in it. (Consequently, this is the same system that the aforementioned author likely aligns himself with... food for thought.)

But back to the article. "Oh, we're so much better than that woman who's husband is sleeping it off because we actually feel different today!" You ever stop to think that maybe that couple doesn't want your life? That they don't want your marriage? That they simply didn't perceive their wedding to be this sudden, life-altering event, but rather a wonderful milestone in an already-evolving relationship?

Naw, they wanted to wait, to not live together first. They just fell to temptation. They're weak. Their morals are in shambles. Your way is so much better.

Fuck your understanding of morals. Morality isn't something you abide by just because some centuries-old book tells you to. Morality is something you have internalized for yourself, and even if it does come from a religious influence, you've still internalized it for personal reasons. I'm a very moral person, but for a number of reasons I could never internalize the kind of morality that your religion pushes. However, I do have extremely clear guidelines for how I handle everything from conflict to sexuality, and I very rarely waiver on any of it. One of my favorite morals is non-judgment. As I've said, I don't judge The Waiters. That's their business. But I have a very clear moral duty to call them out on their bullshit when I see them doing harm by passing moral judgment on others.

"Oh, but marriage is just the way to go." Right, because sexual relationships are always great if you're married. People never use sex to manipulate their partners in a marriage. A married man never rapes or sexually assaults his wife. All relationship problems would just magically be solved if everyone would just get married.

Whatever. I hope he and his wife enjoy a long and happy life in whatever alternate reality they currently reside in.

Enough ranting and cursing for now... Jezebel makes it better with all the hilarious GIFs.

Newsflash: It's Not Unusual To Measure Pregnancy From Two Weeks Prior To Conception

The following is a cross-post from RHRealityCheck.org
------------------------

Dear Everyone,
Please stop referring to Arizona's new abortion ban as the "Pregnancy Begins Two Weeks Before Conception Act."  It's an ill-informed statement and makes us all look like we don't know what we're talking about.  Plus, it focuses on the wrong aspects of the bill.

First of all, from a health care standpoint, pregnancy is nearly always measured from two weeks prior to when implantation (the physiological beginning of pregnancy) actually occurs.  All clinicians - doctors, midwives, the good folks at your local Planned Parenthood - measure pregnancy not from how long a person has actually been pregnant, but from their last menstrual period (LMP), which falls about two weeks prior to implantation.  This is partly because we don't always know exactly when a person actually became pregnant, but mostly because it's far more accurate to measure a person's unique gestation rate by her cycle. 

In other words, if I was pregnant and had my last menstrual period on July 23, I would be classified as "six weeks pregnant" even though I've probably only been pregnant for about four.  This is not unusual, and all clinics that provide abortions measure your pregnancy this way.

Now, let's instead focus on the real problems with this bill.  The ban on abortions after the 20th week LMP (18 weeks gestation, for those of you playing along at home) is an arbitrary marker backed up by the idea that fetuses feel pain after this point (there in fact is no evidence to support this claim).  My own state of North Carolina has had this ban in place for years, as do Alabama, Louisiana, Kansas, Idaho, Indiana, Nebraska, and Oklahoma. The Arizona bill also requires women to have an ultrasound 24 hours to having an abortion, requires clinics that provide abortions to be held to higher standards than most other outpatient surgical facilities, and states that providers must have admitting privileges in local hospitals (again not something that is generally required of practitioners operating in other kinds of outpatient surgical centers).  In other words, the Arizona bill is a major attack on abortion access, not just a bill that challenges our understanding of gestational measurement.

So really, instead of calling it the "Pregnancy Begins Two Weeks Before Conception Act," I'd like to suggest the following alternatives:

• The "Let's All Use Bunk Science To Legislate When A Fetus Feels Pain" Act
• The "Arbitrary Guidelines On Gestational Restrictions For Abortion" Act
• The "Women Are Incapable Of Making Their Own Decisions" Act
• The "State-Sanctioned Rape" Act (to borrow from the Virginia bill passed earlier this year)
• The "Let's Place So Many Restrictions On Who Can Provide Abortions That No One Can" Act

The above suggestions don't necessarily roll off the tongue, and to be sure they don't make for decent soundbites either.  But they would keep this whole mess from becoming known as the "Pro-Choice People Don't Know Anything About Pregnancy" debacle. 

Your Friendly Full-Spectrum Doula,
Lauren

A Letter To The Guy Who Catcalled Me In Front Of The Harris Teeter

Or, A Day In The Life Of A Female Body Living Under Patriarchy

Dear Potential Rapist,

You watched me approach the store entrance while lighting your cigarette. I made eye contact with you and possibly ventured a smile, something my Southern nature tells me to do when passing by even the strangest of strangers. You clearly took that as an invitation, nodding, raising your eyebrows, and saying something to the effect of, "Hey there you lil' gorgeous thing, what you lookin' for this afternoon? A good time?"

I wanted to turn to you and respond that I was lookin' to buy some groceries so my partner and I can eat tonight. Tell you that my polite nature is not an invitation to harass me. Then I wanted to ask what you thought would come of it. Did you think I would jump into your car with you? Have mad anonymous sex with you because you're clearly just that hot? Or does harassing random women do enough for you? Does it make you feel like a big man, worthy of respect in a society that offers you little based on your race and socio-economic status?

But I said none of these things. Instead I averted my eyes, dropped my gaze, and hurried into the store where my every move would be caught on security camera.

See, I'm a pretty strong person. I generally stand up for myself and others without blinking an eye. I regularly assist women through long labors without hardly sitting down, let alone sleeping. I have held my own in arguments on complex and controversial topics ranging from abortion, queer lib, rape culture, etc. I've even used my body as a human shield between abortion patients and groups of people who very possibly want me dead.

But you forced upon me the kind of vulnerability from which even the strongest of women are so often unable to recover. As much as I would have loved to turn around and tell you what's what, the threat of further verbal - or worse, physical - harassment turned me into little more than a timid schoolgirl, and I was silenced. So if that was indeed your goal, congratulations.

When I exited the store, you were still there.  My heart skipped a beat as you stood up from the bench where you had apparently been sitting, waiting. A thousand different thoughts flew through my head at once: would someone really attack a woman in broad daylight, and if so, would bystanders respond? Do I remember the defensive maneuvers I learned in RAD almost a decade ago? Could I take you myself, or will I need to scream for help? And finally, I wish I was wearing better shoes. 

I then considered my knee-length skirt and form-fitting tank top and wondered if your good-for-nothing defense attorney would be able to argue that I was asking for it. Imagined the people who would question why I made eye contact with you in the first place. Recalled every last email my mom has sent me with tips for avoiding an attack. Wished I hadn't scoffed at them.

I walked across the shopping center faster than usual, covertly using storefront windows to see if you were following me (a trick most of us have learned by necessity). You weren't there, but I only breathed a sigh of relief when I got into my car, closed the door, and immediately locked it like I always do.

In a way, I think I should thank you for not letting me go a day without a stark reminder that rape culture exists. This wasn't the first time this has happened to me, and it won't be the last. Young women aren't taught that these things might happen to them... we're taught that they will. And it's a survival mechanism, a societal bandaid that helps us prepare for and avoid potential attacks without ever really asking why these things happen in the first place.

But let me not pass judgment. It's quite possible you've never truly raped a woman in your life; your predatory activities could very well begin and end with street harassment. But I (and whoever else you've catcalled) don't know that. To us, you and all men are potential rapists, and your decision to make unsolicited comments about my being a "gorgeous little thing" doesn't exactly help your case.

See, you may never have stopped to consider how your actions are perceived. And in many ways, you will never fully understand the impact of them. To you, street harassment may at worst embarrass us, gross us out, or make us roll our eyes while giving you a funny story to tell your guy friends later. You need to know, however, that rape culture exists in a continuum. You do not need to physically rape a woman in order to make her afraid of being raped... we're socialized to view you as a potential rapist, and any action that seeks to sexualize, objectify, or threaten us without our consent may be perceived as a precursor to the worst possible end. 

Something to think about.

Sincerely,
Your Potential Victim

Friday Musing: Something To Think About Edition

When I went to urgent care after stepping on a sharp metal object in the driveway (thanks dear!), I was told I should take a round of antibiotics.  The doctor was nice enough, informing me that the antibiotics would interfere with my contraceptive method, and therefore I should use a backup method for the next month.

It was nothing I didn't already know, and yet I left thinking, "That's not the way I would have phrased that."  Okay, I say that a lot.  Obviously I'm the kind of person with certain ideas about how health care should and should not be.  But I really mean that here... that is not the way I would have phrased that.

Last week, the Affordable Care Act went into effect, giving women specifically increased access to health care and support.  While the health care bill has obvious short-comings, women's health advocates celebrated the accomplishment, primarily the new contraception without copay rule that will benefit many (but not all) women using birth control.

Don't get me wrong... increasing economic access to a range of birth control methods is awesome.  It absolutely should be lauded as a great accomplishment for sexual health.  But what's left to battle over are the other barriers.  Social stigma, attacks by religious institutions, and a lack of access to education all shape our society's relationship with birth control, not to mention a common issue that is very often overlooked completely: lack of partner support.

Because it's so hidden, it's difficult to gauge how many women are in relationships that impede their ability to use consistently effective birth control.  Birth control sabotage is particularly common in abusive relationships, the idea being that a person is less able to leave the relationship if she is kept in what amounts to reproductive slavery. Abusers don't always covertly sabotage contraception to force pregnancies on their partners; intimidation, threats, or simple unwillingness to use a condom all create significant obstacles that mere co-pay free contraception is not about to remedy.

Given its potential to go unreported, health care providers need to be able to create a plan of care that can work with or around a patient whose partner is unwilling (or just refuses) to play an active role in safer sex practices.  Today many reproductive health clinics (such as Planned Parenthood) staff providers who are able to do this, helping patients choose a method that cannot be sabotaged or, in some cases, even detected by an intimate partner.  But many general health practitioners - particularly those from "the old school" - fall short of even recognizing this as a potential issue.

So back to my doctor's health counseling.  "You should use a backup method for the next cycle" isn't at all inaccurate.  It's actually good information, clearly stated and with little room for confusion.  However, his counseling in no way acknowledged the fact that using a backup method might be out of the question for me. 

What if he phrased it, "You should use a backup method for the next cycle, is that going to be a problem?"  To be sure, the majority of his patients would have said, "No, that's not going to be a problem," and maybe wondered why he thought it might be.  No harm done.  And the ones who would potentially have a problem would be given the opportunity to say so, possibly receiving advice to prevent pregnancy or even some resources to help them change their situations. 

Health care providers need to be at the forefront of these conversations.  We entrust them with our confidential information, knowing our intimate details are protected by law and by their oaths.  They need to be able to first see if they can help patients get out of abusive situations, but they also need to know that getting out is not always possible, and therefore working within those situations to reduce harm may be the best conceivable option.

Women who wear the hijab are being oppressed by the patriarchy. Ima rock this corset now.

It started out innocently enough: the Facebook page for a mainstream feminist group featured an image of Team USA fencer Ibtihaj Muhammad, the first American woman to compete in an international competition while wearing a hijab.

You know where I'm going with this, don't you?

Oh yes, it happened.  Before I even clicked "view all comments," I knew what I'd find.  And sure enough, I found it:

•  "That's awesome.  Too bad she feels the pressure to cover though.  Damn patriarchy."
• "Good for her! But I can't get past the covering. Poor woman."
• "I hope she wins gold!!  And can be empowered enough to stop having to cover!!!!"

It's really the defining trait of liberal/reformist feminism: privileged Western white ladies having clear-cut ideas about what does and does not constitute oppression, never taking issues of race/class/ethnicity/gender identity into the equation, all the while failing to see where or how they specifically fall into the role of oppressor themselves.  And they just can't shut up about the hijab.  I mean, the second comment says it all, "I can't get past the covering."

I actually engaged that specific commenter in a private conversation, because I do that sometimes.  I've become more particular about who I will engage in deeper-level conversations about privilege and oppression, because let's face it, when you go into an argument with a rabid antichoicer about the morality of abortion, it's just never going to be productive.  But seeing how this particular woman was at least a feminist, I figured what could be the harm.

And it was good.  We had some decent exchanges of ideas and both came out having earned a slightly different perspective on some things.

Then I clicked on her profile.  She had a few photos public, and the ones I could see featured a person, I'm assuming her, dressed up in a corset, fishnets, and heels.  Don't get me wrong, she looked amazing.  If I'd been out and seen her walk by, my reaction would have been one of "hot damn she looks good."  And I'm not one of those feminists who thinks that donning a corset sets women's liberation back three or four decades... while I don't own a corset myself, I have been known to occasionally rock some sexy stuff that would make Andrea Dworkin cringe.

But you must understand that this person made some very scathing comments about how a woman's decision to wear a hijab can never be free of patriarchal influence.  She was very clear about that, even echoing one of my personal favorite talking points: we don't live in a vacuum. It's beyond me, really.  Here's this intelligent woman expressing her discontent with another culture's patriarchal standards while at the same time proudly playing into a centuries-old standard of her own.

I mean obviously it goes back to intersectionality.  There are tons of feminists who believe that they never "buy in" to patriarchal standards with their appearance, but a woman who simply covers her head and hair because of religious tradition has zero autonomy in the matter.  It goes back to our deep-seeded racism and Islamaphobia that, admit it, exists in the majority of us on some level, which is deeply problematic.  For one, it's ignorant: few people who criticize the hijab actually know why it's worn. We're told, mostly by American-based media, that such coverings are required by law in all those mean evil Middle Eastern countries and that's bad.  We pretty much leave it at that.  Secondly, it assumes that we in the United States live in a post-patriarchal society where we've "moved past" all that sexist stuff.  Putting on a vintage-inspired apron and baking cookies for your boyfriend doesn't mean the same thing that it meant 50 years ago... goodness no, the systematic oppression of women - at least in our forward-thinking society - is a thing of the past.  (That's post-feminism, baby!)

Lastly, it's paternalistic.  Liberal/reformist feminists continue to buy into the idea that privileged Western white ladies need to be the ones to "save" other women (Muslim women specifically) from themselves.  This is nothing new... white feminists have been doing this since feminism was feminism. (If you haven't read White Women's Rights by Louise Newman, that should be added to your reading list.  Like now.)  Co-opting the neocolonialist language of our government, these women assume that liberation is something that needs to be given to the women of the world, not something they can achieve for themselves in a way that will jive with their cultures.  Worst of all, no one even attempts to ask Muslim women whether or not they feel oppressed by wearing a hijab, and if they do, they question one or two women of color to gain the appearance of inclusitivity by means of tokenism.  

So my feminist friend "feels bad" that Muslim women are "pressured" to don "unnecessary and uncomfortable articles of clothing" because of patriarchal rule.  I'm picturing the modestly-dressed Muslim women of the world peering at her Facebook pictures, thinking much the same thing.

The Humorless Feminist

Yeah, that's right.  I'm weighing in on the Daniel Tosh clusterfuck.

See, when one speaks out against the use of sexism in comic routines, they risk being labeled "one of those feminists without a sense of humor."  The humorless feminist stereotype has been a cultural archetype since the radical feminists of the 1970s first spoke out against using women's disenfranchisement to make a joke. 

Many people continue to tell themselves that rape jokes are not only okay, but they're also funny and don't do anything to perpetuate rape culture.  We've somehow come to allow ourselves the privilege of invoking gender oppression for the sake of humor, all the while telling ourselves that sexism, misogyny, sexual assault, and partner violence are things of the past (or at least don't exist in our own social circles).  However, in a country where 20% of women report being sexually assaulted, where the gender wage gap still exists as prominently as it was decades ago, and where our government continues to legislate our bodies and sexualities with ease, how can even the most light-hearted jab not reaffirm our society's commitment to gender discrimination? 

This kind of humor has really become popular in self-described "enlightened" circles.  Maybe a person fancies himself a feminist and supports the right to choose.  He probably condemns wage discrimination and treats his female friends and partners as equals.  He may have helped organize Take Back the Night events, and he may speak loudly about the importance of consent.  From this, he may feel he's "earned" the right to make a rape joke or two; after all, he would never rape anyone, so what could really be the harm?

What he doesn't realize is that the women in his extra-enlightened, uber-sex positive and politically radical social circle are just as likely to have experienced sexual assault as the women in the repressed circles he and his friends love to scoff at.  That means that, for every rape joke he tells, 20% of his female friends are forced to hear the worst thing that's ever happened to them turned into a mechanism for cheap laughs.  Worse yet, the ever-present stigma of being a sexual assault victim means that these women are unlikely speak up, lest they become labeled "humorless feminists" who allowed themselves to be raped.  Even the playful jabs of "bitch make me a sandwich" smack of regressive social norms and help to maintain the constraints of male dominance.

Not wanting to be left on the sidelines of social clout, women themselves often become complicit in the maintenance of rape as an acceptable source of humor.  For us, it's even harder to unpack.  After all, haven't we, the clear majority of sexual assault victims, also "earned" this right?  We face the threat of sexual assault every single time we work late and have to walk to our cars alone.  We worry about stopping for gas late at night.  Our hearts skip a beat when we're in the shower and think we hear someone in the house.  We're warned from early childhood about getting into cars with boys, accepting alcoholic beverages at parties, wearing clothes that show too much skin, dancing a certain way, etc.  Why not take this horrendous reality and laugh the weight off of it once in a while, if only while in the company of other women?

I struggled with this one for a while, then I finally realized that, at least in my experience, the opportunity to make a rape joke never really comes up in all-woman gatherings.  It's not that we were censoring ourselves: the compulsion simply isn't there.  From this I can only conclude that jokes about sexual assault exist almost exclusively in rooms where male privilege dominates, and let's be real, male dominance exists even inside groups of anti-sexist wingnuts.

And yet we refrain from speaking up against it, lest we become "the oppressors" ourselves.  How dare we police someone else's god-given right to free speech?  I mean what is this, Nazi Germany?  This is perhaps the most frustrating (and most difficult to refute) accusation, the one that probably silences us more than anything else.  By turning the language of oppression against us, we become the bad guys while they continue perpetuating rape culture under the guise of "freedom of expression."  And with that, we continue to be silenced.

Let me get one thing straight: I have a phenomenal sense of humor.  It's actually a bit warped, which makes some people uncomfortable.  I use the word "fuck" a whole lot.  I enjoy incredibly raunchy jokes, especially those that take an ounce or two of intellect to fully appreciate.  In proper circles, I can make a whole group cringe, laugh, then cringe some more as they add my side-splitting anecdote to their own humor arsenals.  Best of all, I can do it all without having to use sexist or racist language.  That's the opposite of having "no sense of humor." 

My question is, how bad is your sense of humor that you have to turn to years of social injustice to get laughs?  How bad is your vocabulary that you have to use sexist slurs to make a point?  And how lacking in whit are you that you have to use one of the worst possible things that can happen to a person just to make a joke?

Making the Cut: Our Hypocritical Stance on Non-Consensual Genital Modification

You know, a lot of people are going on about how the recent ban on circumcision by a German court violates religious freedom, and to be sure, some courts in the US have been unable to uphold such a ruling on those grounds.

Let me be clear... I support religious practices that don't overtly harm people.  Okay, you might say, where do you draw that line?

Here in the U.S., we obviously don't draw it at the mutilation of a child's genitals.  But we do have express bans on other forms of violence sanctioned by religious texts, such as the stoning of women who have sex out of wedlock [Deuteronomy 22].  In fact, we in the U.S. rail against such literal interpretations of religious texts as practiced in countries under a fundamentalist version of sharia (and we use this as justification for the occupation and destruction of those countries... just sayin'). And we have no problem speaking out against the mutilation of female genitalia in Africa, even though that practice is congruent with religious tradition as well.  Are we so hypocritical in our disdain for religion-induced violence that we only accept the kind practiced by people who live in our neighborhoods and look like us?

Unfortunately the religious freedom card continues to dominate the conversation about circumcision in particular.  But what about the discussion of sexual freedom?  We need to be talking about how the mutilation of child's genitals is a huge sexual rights issue.  When it comes to female genital mutilation, the implications are obvious: no clitoris, no sexual pleasure.  What we don't always realize is that the removal of the male foreskin removes a wealth of nerve endings as well, scarring the penis and removing a lot of sensation.  Obviously the organ can still function enough to perform its "biological task," but what about the quality of that child's future sexual life?

The other socially accepted form of genital mutilation not discussed nearly enough is the mutilation (sometimes called "modification") of organs that are considered "ambiguous" at birth.  Seeing how we all have differently-sized-and-shaped genitalia, I find it ethically repugnant that a parent might opt to have their baby's organs cut to look "more normal" without the child's consent.  Still, I'm sure any parent who's had their child's genitals "modified" for this reason would tell you they thought it was for the best.  After all, we live in a world where only two variations of sex organs are considered acceptable, and parents don't want their kids growing up in a world that might persecute them on the basis of something that can be cut away.  It's amazing, really, that our society is so homophobic and transphobic that parents would rather have their children endure major reconstructive surgery than just leave it be.

By now I've probably offended dozens, and really that's okay.  The non-consensual modification of a person's genitalia is a topic many are passionate about, and many of us have strong opinions one way or another.  But the conversation, so often about either "religious freedom" or "normalizing the child for her/his own sake", misses too many points to not be taken to task.  We can't discuss the above without also taking into account the child's future as a sexual being in charge of her/his own body, and we need to start thinking about the inherent problems with putting things like religious tradition before sexual autonomy.

Vagina

That is all.

Why Birthing Rights Matter to the Pro-Choice Movement

In the more abortion-focused circles of the pro-choice movement, birthing rights often go undiscussed.  My mentions of home birth rights specifically have brought varying responses, from supportive to ambivalent to outright hostile ("Well that is not safe!"). 

But let's be clear about something.  Reproductive justice means that everyone has complete control over if, when, where, how, and with whom they bring a child into the world.  It means that people have accurate, unbiased access to information regarding all facets of their reproductive lives, from contraception to pregnancy options, from practices surrounding birth to parental rights. It means that our choices are not constrained by politics, financial barriers, or social pressure.  In other words, how can the right to give birth at home - safely and legally - not be on a reproductive justice advocate's radar?

I mention this because we in North Carolina are enduring yet another vicious attack on the rights of pregnant and childbearing individuals.  Women seeking home births may have the legal right to do so, but just like the women seeking abortion care, these laws do nothing to protect access.  As far as home birth attendants go, our state only recognizes certified nurse midwives (CNMs), and in order for these phenomenal women to legally attend births, they must be supervised by an MD currently licensed to practice obstetrics in the state.  As you can imagine, physicians that will supervise homebirth CNMs are few and far between, and this week one of them was advised (under threats of sanction) that he cannot sign off on CNMs who are not under his direct employment.  Even though the law does not dictate these terms, the medical board's sanction left seven of our eleven home birth CNMs without a licensing MD, and countless women without a care provider.

The research is abundantly clear: when labor is progressing normally, a woman under the care of a trained midwife is as safe giving birth at home as she would be under the care of an obstetrician in a hospital.

Anti-abortion birth advocates are already taking a hypocritical stance on the matter as they decry abortion rights while asking why women's reproductive decisions are limited.  I've been biting my tongue while reading the Facebook comments of fellow birth professionals all week.  One such statement went, "It is legal to have an abortion but a woman can't choose to have a home birth with a midwife! This is crazy!"  Another, "A mother can kill her baby in all three trimesters but can't give birth at home.  The government is nuts."  [Fact-Check Sidebar: North Carolina restricts abortion access after the 20th week of pregnancy (hardly "all three trimesters"); additionally, this ruling didn't come from the government, it came from the NC Board of Medicine, an agency independent from the state's governing body.]  These ramblings are usually followed by the contradictory co-opting of pro-choice language, ripe with phrases like "right to choose" and "my body, my choice."

The abortion rift amongst birth advocates is really nothing new.  After all, to simply be an advocate for varying birthing options does not encompass any official position on the politics of pregnancy itself.  Birth advocates come to the work for a variety of reasons, while it certainly seems odd to me that a person could support the "right to choose" in one pregnancy outcome but not another, the social stigma surrounding abortion means that this rift is bound to exist. 

That home birth rights are not at the forefront of the reproductive justice movement, on the other hand, is beyond me.  The struggles are just too similar.  Every time someone points out that women might have to cross state lines to access a home birth midwife, I think of the women who still - in the year 2012 - have to seek abortion care in a state with fewer restrictions or more providers.  When we worry that women will have to give birth with midwives who operate illegally (or go unassisted), I think of the women who risked their lives going to see illegal abortion providers with no public credentials, or the women who simply did it themselves.  Medicaid and many private insurers restrict access to home birth midwives just like they restrict access to abortion, making both more or less a privilege to those with the means to pay out of pocket. 

Reproductive justice advocates who are involved in birthing rights see both - the right to an abortion and the right to give birth at home - as the same struggle.  We understand that any assault on reproductive freedom comes from a system of patriarchal self-interest that sees women not as autonomous beings, but as objects to be regulated and "fixed."  We know that any women who choose home birth have done their research and don't need "warnings" from government institutions, just like women seeking abortions don't need the ideological jargon in "Right To Know" legislation.  We know that women and their families are capable of making the best possible decisions regarding the births of their children, and we seek to create a world where access, stigma, and social pressure don't sway these decisions.  In other words, we live up to the full spectrum of our ideology... we Trust Women.

I call on the reproductive justice movement to make birthing rights a part of their pro-choice consciousness.  If we are to create a world that ensures sexual and reproductive well-being for all women and girls, no struggle to protect our choices or desires can go unsupported.

30 Kids and Counting: Race, class, and the scapegoating of the Other

This is yet another issue I was planning on avoiding, but it's gone viral on my Facebook news feed, so here we are.

The story goes that Desmond Hatchett, a Tennessee resident, is the biological father of thirty children.  Thirty children born to eleven different women.  The other part... he has a minimum-wage job and therefore some of his children's mothers receive as little as $1.49 per month. He is pleading with the state for help with his support payments.

I know better than to read the comments below the stories.  I'm not even going to go there.  But the commentary provided by people on Facebook - people I'm actually friends with and tend to respect as intelligent human beings - provided its own source of disappointment.

But first, let's break down a few of the issues in the news article itself.

The headline, TN Man 'Fathers' 30 Kids But Can't Support Any, is in and of itself problematic.  The last line of the article tells us he has a minimum-wage job, so obviously he can support some, especially when they report that his previous partners do in fact receive support payments, however small they may be.  The use of the word "fathers" in quotations, paired with the obviously inaccurate claim that he "can't afford any," reinforces the deadbeat Black dad stereotype.  While Hatchett may not come across as the most sexually responsible person in the world, that he is even showing up in court and willingly getting half his paycheck taken by the state means that he is making more of an effort than, say, a man who dodges the system completely and goes "off the grid" to avoid child support payments (or, say, a man who is physically and financially present in a child's life but is any shade of abusive).

Much of the language in the article itself is racist and demeaning.  The author could have easily reported that Hatchett had children with 11 different partners, but instead chose to use the term "baby mamas" in quotations, clearly an attempt to write off all people involved as irresponsible stereotypes.

The article also lacks any discussion of why this sort of thing happens in the first place, especially in a racial and socioeconomic context.  And no, I'm not talking about the apparently "high number" of sexual partners Hatchett has had (okay, I did end up reading some of the reader comments... d'oh!).  I'm talking about the fact that Tennessee is a state with a long history of abstinence-only sex education (or in some cases, no sex education at all). In fact, the state's legislature is currently pushing a bill that would restrict this curriculum even more.  Additionally, while condom use rates have improved amongst the young African American population, cultural barriers present in lower-income communities persist.  Non-barrier, female-controlled contraceptives remain difficult to access in any community without consistent financial stability, and the state of Tennessee strictly prohibits social safety nets from funding abortion services.  And the results are apparent: Tennessee has one of the highest rates of unintended pregnancy in the country, particularly among young African American women. 

And now for the comments I read on my Facebook feed.

I'll say first that simply posting the article without any discussion of the above points is irresponsible, period.  Desmond Hatchett does not exist in a vacuum, and while his situation is a bit more extreme, his story is not unique.  Countless men regardless of race or socioeconomic status have "accidental children" with previous sexual partners.  We're only hearing about Hatchett because he doesn't have the economic privilege to make his child support payments outside of the public view. 

I have a number of feminist-identified friends who decided instead to take the "men are scum" approach.  But again, ignorance of the race/class factors involved here make their commentary troubling in the feminist lens because really, they're not calling out all men... they're calling out this particular kind of man.  A truly feminist account of Hatchett's situation would not ignore the intersectionality at play here.  Rather, it would push it to the forefront of the conversation.

Another person pointed the finger not only at the irresponsibility of Hatchett, but the "stupidity" of his female partners as well.  The poster even went so far as to muse that several of the women involved might have become pregnant intentionally in order to receive payment (because child support payments are just a phenomenally effective get-rich-quick scheme).

Even more troubling was the friend who simply stated that Hatchett should be "permanently sterilized." To make matters worse, he went on to express complete ignorance of why this is problematic when confronted about it.  Using terms like "personal responsibility" and "individual case," he remained unwilling to even learn about our nation's history of forced and coerced sterilization in lower-income communities of color, but assured me his previous comment "had nothing to do with race."  Right.

The Desmond Hatchett story made headlines first because it serves as an extreme example of a very common issue: the United States has one of the most abysmal records of unintended pregnancy in the industrialized world.  But the perpetuation of shock and "oh my god can you believe this guy" serves a deeper social purpose in that it puts a stereotypical face on the issue.  Thus, we allow ourselves to point the finger at one person or one kind of person (read: not us), blaming a group of irresponsible individuals rather than asking how we as a society may be complicit in another person's actions.  I thought the people I associate myself with were better than that, however, this time it appears I may have been mistaken.

Moments in the Life of a Doula

Very Little Known Fact: May is International Doula Month.  2012 marks my third May as a doula, and let's just say the past few years have been nothing short of inspirational. 

I'm on call for my tenth birth.  Number ten!  Two and a half years ago I never thought I'd get here... my dedication to women's health has never been enough, and I fast learned that it's very hard to "get known" as a birth worker, especially when you've never had any babies yourself.  Still, the clients I have worked for have hired me for my presence, my energy.  And as I get more experience, more mamas are realizing that it's energy, not personal experience as a laboring person, that really matters.

Today I'm thinking about all the babies I have had the privilege to watch come into the world: Lundyn, Sara, Quinn, Aaron, Micha, Madison, Gershom, Amelia, and Sullivan.  All born to totally badass mamas with incredibly unique and wonderful birthing experiences. 

Thinking about these nine phenomenal experiences, I ran through my "stats".  Some prospective clients like to know, for example, your clients' epidural rate, though unlike your care provider's cesarean rate, a doula's epidural rate really hinges more on the way the birth progresses itself and not the actual doula.  Or so I tell myself.  But still, I'm proud of my stats.  In my nine births, I have had:

• Three boys, six girls.
• Three mamas who chose to have an epidural.
• Three mamas induced with Pitocin.
• One cesarean birth.
• Two mamas delivered at Forsyth Medical Center, one at Women's Birth and Wellness Center, and six at Women's Hospital.
• The fastest labor was an hour and a half.
• The longest was well over 20 hours.
• My favorite midwife thus far was Kate Layman, CNM at the birth center.  My least favorite was one of the faculty midwives at Women's who, fortunately, was only on for three more hours after my mama was admitted. 
• My favorite obstetrician was Dr. Grewal, my least favorite a tie between Dr. Marshall and whoever the guy was at Forsyth back in September (not worth remembering). 
• I've really loved all the nurses, but my favorite remains the pediatric nurse at Women's Hospital who helped the mama and I convince the father that circumcision has no real medical benefit.

Like any doula, I've experienced the absolute best of human love, compassion, and forgiveness simply by being there in the room.  I've heard mamas and their partners say ridiculously funny shit, sharing a good laugh between tough contractions.  I've also witnessed families make difficult decisions, seen women break down and sob when their birth plans have gone awry.  Fortunately, my birth clients have all gone on to deliver beautiful, healthy babies despite these roadblocks.  I have many favorite moments that straddle these two extremes... to name a few:

• My greatest learning moment came to me in birth number four.  The mama had been having one back-labor contraction on top of the other for a solid 90 minutes.  It had been seven hours since her last vaginal exam, at which time she was 5cm dilated.  When her contractions "stopped," I told her she was probably complete and would be feeling the urge to push soon.  After an hour of continued back pain and no urge to push, the nurse checked her and found that she was 6cm, at most.  As the baby was being born later that day (after an epidural, a nice long nap, and a marathon pushing phase), I saw that he was asyncletic.  Immediately my education flooded the forefront of my mind... it all made sense: the slow progression, the "fake" transition, the lengthy 2nd stage, even the week of prodromal labor. All textbook signs of an asyncletic presentation.  It was in this experience that I re-learned to NEVER estimate the laboring person's progress, that it's not the doula's job no matter how "clear" it seems to be at the time.
• While DONA would surely frown on this, I've been taught a few midwifery skills by midwives who needed an extra hand.  When a birth center midwife was busy stitching up a mama with a 4th degree tear, she asked me to do the fundal massage.  I'd never done it before, but she told me where to place my hand, what to do, and how hard to do it.  While it certainly went against my "doula instincts" to massage so hard, I now feel like I would be able to do hemorrhage control if I'm ever the only person present who knew how to do it.  Another midwife, during a very long 2nd stage at the hospital, gave me a refresher course in how to catch a baby if I ever had a mama deliver on the side of the road.  DONA teaches a little bit about that, but since we're really not "supposed" to do anything medical, they keep it brief.
• There's a popular one-liner amongst birth professionals about the difference between a doula and a midwife: "Midwives catch babies, doulas catch dads."  While I scoff at the obvious couple-centrism, I actually have caught a dad before.  Seeing how he was an ex-Army medic and current paramedic, no one really thought he'd have a problem with witnessing the birth.  However, the sleep deprivation, low blood sugar, and pure adrenalin of "oh my god I'm becoming a father" formed the perfect storm, and while everyone else was watching his baby crown, he was boarding the express train to the floor.  I caught him, this easily 200-pound man, inches above the ground.  Even Dr. Grewal turned from her obstetric duties to congratulate me on my quick reflexes, and hey, it bought the baby's cord some time!
• Speaking of umbilical cords, I once saw a "true knot" in one, which was awesome. The midwife and I shared a moment of "oh wow awesome!" while the new parents were admiring the new baby.  Because we're birth nerds like that.
• Some of my favorite parents have been the ones who "talk back" to care providers that aren't honoring their wishes.  At a rapid (unmedicated) birth last September, the doctor was trying to tell the woman to push when she didn't yet feel the urge.  Any decent research on an unmedicated 2nd stage will tell you this is a waste of energy, but the doctor obviously had a golf game to get to, so he continued to berate her, saying she "wasn't going to have a baby by just laying there and resting."  At this moment, she looked at him and said, "Shut the hell up, I'll push when I damn well feel like it."  Obviously the urge to push came, and within minutes she was holding her baby girl.  My favorite part about that birth was the dad talking shit about the doctor while he was on the other side of the curtain... whoops!

My favorite moments, however, are present at every single birth: the energy you can almost touch, the families being born, the immense joy in the room.  It's really indescribable, and words just cannot do justice to the experience of being present for the birth of a baby.

On another note, I also spent some time this week being the "phone doula" for a woman who was planning an abortion.  I was reminded of how similar the work is even if the outcome is obviously very different (I've discussed this before).  I gave advice, self-care suggestions, and basically was just there to listen and understand.  Without providing too much specific information about her case, I can tell her that her outlook on abortion is far different from mine.  Which is to say, she's never considered herself prochoice or "pro-life."  She was raised what she called "Super Catholic" and honestly thought she would be killing a human being.  But she was having the abortion anyway because it was her only real option.

By the end of our conversations prior to her appointment, she felt good about the choice she was making.  She had more clarity in her values, she was forgiving herself, and couldn't stop thanking me for being there for her without leading, assuming, judging, etc.

Just like at births.

I've been jokingly labeled as a "truly full-spectrum" doula by friends.  Bad Day Doula, Relationship Doula, Sleep Deprivation Doula, Headache Doula... I may end up being my mom's Hip Replacement Doula by the end of the summer.  What it comes down to isn't some certification, or even training... it comes down to who I am as a person, what I am willing to do for people, and the way I treat them.  The training informs the actions we take in response to our instincts, but someone can't simply be trained to be the kind of person a doula is.

Oh hell, I'm rambling.  I'll just let Boromir break it down for you.  Happy International Doula Month, all!!

Breastfeeding Advocacy: You're Doin It Wrong

If there's one thing breastfeeding advocates are really good at, it's spouting off the numerous health benefits of breastfeeding while listing the risks of artificial formulas.  You'd be hard-pressed to find a mom who, for example, couldn't tell you that breastfed babies have less illness, fewer allergies, or a lower risk of childhood obesity. 

And yet US breastfeeding rates are abysmal, with fewer than 15% of American women exclusively breastfeeding for the WHO recommendation of six months, and only about 44% of six-month old babies are breastfeeding with supplementation or complementary foods.  The numbers drop even more once you get to the WHO's recommendation of breastfeeding with the addition of complementary foods past the first year, with only 23% of babies receiving any breastmilk at all past that landmark. And of course, lower-income women and women of color are far more likely to quit breastfeeding earlier.

We've heard it all before: "My milk dried up after three months."  "I had to go back to work, and it just wasn't possible anymore."  "I didn't know lactation consultants existed."  "I had way too much going on in my life to fix the problem."  "I couldn't afford lactation support."  "My partner didn't support my decision to breastfeed." For these situations, pamphlets and ad campaigns that regurgitate the old "breast is best" adage aren't going to suddenly resolve breastfeeding challenges.  All they're going to do is create more guilt and shame in the minds of mothers who, despite their best efforts, just couldn't make it work for them. 

So says a recent study regarding the Surgeon General's 2011 "Call to Action to Support Breastfeeding."  The Call, hardly a breastfeeding-friendly overhaul of the nation's health care system, has been received as mere propaganda that spouts a message without providing realistic solutions.  Mothers surveyed say the Call gave them more reasons to feel bad about not breastfeeding without providing actual mandates that change the way new mothers are able to make autonomous parenting choices.

I will say this: the article does an incredibly shoddy job of analyzing the situation.  Instead of asking why so few mothers make it to the six month mark, ABC News chooses instead to interview a medical professional, a professor of pediatrics nonetheless, who says that there are "other options" for women who aren't producing enough milk for their children.

On the other side, the Peanut Gallery provides very little reprieve, featuring commentary from the very short-sighted "I-Did-It-So-Everyone-Can" camp:

• "Everyone has to do what works for them, but for most women who get past the learning curve (which takes up to 6 weeks), the convenience of breastfeeding is a huge blessing."
  Yeah, tell that to the woman who has to go back to her minimum-wage job after four weeks and won't be able to express milk while at work. 
  
• "I think I'll wait until more moms get over their denial over being lazy mothers first. Children aren't dogs or cats, either put up or shut up if you're going to make the choice to have one."
  Right, that's why women stop breastfeeding, because they're lazy.  Not because they were in a situation that looks nothing like yours (gasp!). 
  
• "3 babies died this year from formula i am sure the moms that fed there [sic] babies that formula had tried to breastfeed hard those babies would be here today and there are breastmilk banks throgh [sic] the hospital where people dnate [sic] extra milk it is drug tested and safe"
  Okay, first of all, let's try some punctuation.  You can learn how to use it at many public institutions including elementary school.  Secondly, donated milk at milk banks is generally reserved for very sick or premature babies and is generally not available for public use.  Finally, even if you did find a milk bank that would provide milk for a well baby, its distribution would not be covered by insurance.  Milk banks charge upwards of $3 per ounce (for those of you playing along at home, that's about $72 a day).  And while more communities now have underground (non-banked) milk sharing programs, many mothers just aren't comfortable accepting unpasteurized milk from a stranger. 

No one in either camp, be it "breast is best" or "stop shaming formula-feeding moms," seems to adequately get to the heart of the problem.  No, we shouldn't be guilt-tripping mothers who, for whatever reason, stopped breastfeeding before one year or never tried at all.  But we also shouldn't just accept that 86% of American mothers made some autonomous decision to not exclusively breastfeed!  Let me be clear: campaigns that tout the many benefits of breastfeeding (and risks of formula-feeding) are valuable, but they aren't going to raise the bar alone.  To truly create a society where mothers are able to make autonomous infant feeding decisions, we need to be a bit more radical. 

To start, let me suggest:

• Complete physical, spiritual, and emotional control over when we bring children into the world in the first place.  About half of all pregnancies are unintended, and many mothers struggle just to be able to provide a safe place for their infants to sleep at night.  For these mothers, whether or not their babies are at heightened risk for childhood obesity may be the furthest thing from their minds.   
• Access to quality maternity care regardless of ability to pay.  Actually, let's just go ahead and say that health care is a human right and should not be a part of our for-profit system.  
• Insurance and Medicaid reimbursement for lactation support and any equipment needed to implement a plan of care.  
• Longer maternity leave with full pay, followed by full employer support for mothers who need time and space to express breastmilk while at work.
• Free childcare.
• More support from friends, family, and society at large.  While women who are successful at breastfeeding are more likely to do so for longer than, say, thirty years ago, there is still a large percent of people who believe breastfeeding past six months is somehow akin to sexual abuse or just plain "creepy."  
• Education about breastfeeding as the normal way to feed a baby beginning in the early years of elementary school.  Maybe bring back the famous Sesame Street segment. 
• Teaching girls from an early age that our bodies are totally rad and that there's nothing "gross" or "weird" about our periods, our pregnancies, or our ability to produce milk. 

Pipe dreams.

When You 'Approve' of Pretty Much Anything

When I look up from my desk, there's a camera phone in my face.  I can tell it's set to "video" by the way they're snickering.  "Lauren, can we ask you something?" they begin.  I tell them of course, they can ask me anything.  From a sea of teenage giggles comes the question, "Do you approve of penis sucking?"

It's mid-November and I've just started working as the coordinator for a teen peer educator program.  The regular health educator, a woman with whom they have built strong bonds of trust, has recently had a baby and left this goofy group of kids under my care.  They are trained to facilitate presentations and workshops about sex, drugs/alcohol, peer pressure, healthy relationships, and more with other teens in their community.  The program is associated with lower teen pregnancy and STI rates.  These kids are smart, but they are also teens... that is, they have dirty minds and they love to say weird shit.

"Approve?" I ask.  "As in, do I approve of other people doing it?"  More giggling, plus nodding.  "Okay y'all.  What do we talk about here?  If it's consensual and safe, I 'approve' of pretty much anything."

Roaring laughter.  "ANYTHING?!?!"  They can barely contain their excitement, basking in the belief that they have "tricked" me into opening the floodgates.  Tricked my ass.  This was intentional.

What follows is a series of questions about whether or not I "approve" of a whole host of weird things, at least as "weird" as the unseasoned teenage mind can conjure.  It is at this moment I realize I am, at my heart, cut out for this kind of work.  I don't flinch, even when in my mind I may be making my best "WTF?" face.  The same goes for my work as a doula.  When a multiparous mama said she "wanted pressure on her anus" to relieve some unnerving sensation during second stage, I didn't flinch... I wrapped a tennis ball in a nitrate glove, slipped one on my own hand, and held the thing to her anus until her baby started to crown and the visibly-confused OB told me to get out of the way.  It wasn't weird to me.  It was intuitive and matter-of-fact, and it made her birthing experience more comfortable. 

But back to the teens. While the "penis sucking" question became a running joke, the conversation that started it all established a culture of trust between myself and these particular teens.  During my tenure as their coordinator, several of them would return privately to ask intensely personal questions.  Questions that they weren't about to ask their parents, HCPs, or even close friends. 

Now consider how the "penis sucking" question would have been met within the school system.  An educator would either have to espouse some state-scripted AOUM crap, or (more likely) would chastise the inquirer for being "inappropriate."  If there was an educator on the taxpayer's payroll telling kids that they "approve of pretty much anything," can you imagine the resulting shitstorm?  That would be 24/7 news material, and of course the context would be completely absent from the discourse surrounding the controversy. 

Towards the end of my job coordinating the teens' program, an intern remarked at how comfortable I was being completely honest about my private sexual life.  The initial question of "do you approve of ______" had turned a bit more personal: "Do you ______?"  "Have you ever _____?"  "Why do people like ______?"  "What's the safest way to ______?"  These conversations were generally humorous yet serious, and I felt that by providing answers using my own personal experiences, I was furthering the trust and rapport that would reassure the teens that they could really ask me anything.  I reminded the interns that they absolutely did not have to answer questions about their personal lives if they didn't want to, but that I did because I felt that it normalized sexuality and reaffirmed that sex was a universal and enjoyable part of being human.  And always, I reminded them about our two best friends, consent and safety.

I'm sure some parents (and maybe my bosses) would have raised an eyebrow if they knew what kinds of things I'd shared with my teens, but kids need this kind of blatant honesty, especially when they're so obviously not getting it elsewhere.  Teen sexuality is, in our society, something we're supposed to cringe at, something that's bad and can only be bad.  Hell, the most anti-sex right wingers even believe that the only reason teenagers even think about sex is because they're "told to" by the media and allegedly "anti-morality" feminists.  A recent video put out by the American Life League accused Planned Parenthood in particular of getting teens "addicted" to sex, apparently using masturbation as the "gateway drug" (can't make this shit up).  While this all fits nicely into the religious right's crusade against positive sexuality, it does absolutely nothing to offer teenagers realistic and factual information about their bodies and their sexual lives.  When messages that paint sexuality in a positive light are so absent, teens - especially teen girls - have two choices: they can either adhere to the conservative principle that sex is a commodity to be used in exchange for a husband, or they can follow the media's insistence that sex is a commodity to be used in exchange for social clout.  (Consequently, these two camps decry the other to boost their respective "profit margins."  They also both reaffirm the message that a woman's sexual life is not her own.  That teen girls can use their bodies for whatever purpose best suits their own desires is tragically absent from almost any mainstream debate about sexuality.)

The American Life League would surely accuse me of exposing my peer educators to some vague form of "pornography," but in reality all I ever did was answer questions honestly.  We see childhood as this protected period, and in so many ways it absolutely should be, but we forget that kids are just young humans.  In their own way, kids are sexual creatures just the same - anyone who's had to have "the privacy talk" with their toddler can tell you that - and while it doesn't mean they should be going out and expressing those tendencies with other people until they reach a certain level of maturity, it does mean that we need to have these blatantly honest conversations early and in an age-appropraite way.  The religious right wants us to forget that, to equate masturbation - surely the safest and most self-affirming sexual practice there is - with deviance and dangerous promiscuity.  But they do this to maintain a power structure which is not conducive to one's best possible sexual health.  Sure you can point at the fact that lifelong-monogamous couples aren't likely to contract an STI, but how often does this really work out, and when such a lifestyle decision comes from a culture of sexual repression and not one's autonomous desires, what else is being lost?  It may seem simpler, but in the long-term, is it even worth it? 

I suggest a frankness about sexuality.  An openness.  Such an approach does nothing to encourage teens to be "promiscuous," no... time and time again, research shows that comprehensive sex education results in fewer STIs, lower instances of unintended pregnancies, heightened self-esteem, healthier and more egalitarian relationships.  I also suggest parents quit freaking out when "someone else" talks to their kids about sexuality.  "Someone else" teaches them about almost every other thing, so why not sex?  Especially when that "someone else" is a trained educator who can answer questions that parents may not know the answer to (or may not feel comfortable answering honestly).  Sometimes it's hard to release that kind of control, but parents need to remember that, when it comes to sex education, "someone else" may very well be the best possible option.

Unless of course parents are willing to be the ones on the other side of a video camera, being filmed while their kid asks them a question about "penis sucking."