A reflection from Women’s Center staff member Daniel Willey

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about how disaster response and the concept of a snow day have social justice implications. This week, I am continuing the trend by looking at the disaster in Flint, Michigan. Many news outlets are examining the crisis from a “so how do we fix it” standpoint, but I want to look at this crisis through the lens of “how did we get here.” What structural imbalances led us to this point? What does this crisis say about the bigger picture? Before we get there, though, let’s look at what happened:

(cnn.com)

In 2011, former acting mayor of Flint, Michigan Mike Brown was appointed by Michigan Governor Rick Snyder as the city’s Emergency Financial Manager. The city was $15 million in debt, and it was the EFM’s job to cut the budget as much as possible to remedy the situation. As a major cost saving measure, Flint voted to stop buying water from Detroit, which pulls water from Lake Huron, and connect to Karegnondi Water Authority as a cheaper, more direct way of getting water from Lake Huron. This plan, voted on in 2013, would not be completed until 2016 and the city switched to water from the Flint River in the interim. Tests done on Flint River back in 2011 showed that the water from the river was corrosive and would need to be treated with phosphates before it could be used as a water source. This information was sent to the Michigan Department of Environmental Quality in 2013 when the decision was made to switch. It was the MDEQ’s job to address the corrosiveness of the water, which would cost about $100 per day. As a cost saving measure, they didn’t.

Fast forward to April 2014. Flint switches its water source. Residents report that the water is brown, smells, and has a bad taste. It was gross, but officials insisted it was fine.

(flintwaterstudy.org)

That summer, E.coli and coliform bacteria were found in the water and residents were told to boil their water. Still gross, but officials still claimed the water was safe to drink. Residents continued to report nasty water which was now causing rashes and illness across the city. In January of 2015, Detroit offered to reconnect Flint to Detroit municipal water and wave the reconnection fee. City officials declined and again insisted the water was safe.

Meanwhile, the GM plant near Flint stopped using the water, citing issues with corrosion of metal parts. Since April 2014, this same corrosion had been eating away at the zinc coating on the inside of lead pipes, allowing lead to leach into Flint’s water supply.

You probably know the rest of the story. There was cover-up after cover-up.

Thousands upon thousands of cases of water to be distributed to Flint residents (ibtimes.com)

Kids showing signs of lead poisoning were tested. The water was tested. The city switched back to Detroit’s municipal water, but it was too late. The lead was exposed and continues to leach into the water today. Flint is currently in a state of emergency, with all of its residents using bottled water to do everything from cooking to bathing to brushing teeth.

There’s a lot of stuff going on here. This timeline (and this one) and these few articles can help you get up-to-date on the facts and the finger-pointing. But, I want to focus on the residents of Flint and ask the question, How on earth did this happen?

Flint, like many parts of Michigan, was hit hard by the collapse of the automotive industry in 2009. Today, 40% of its residents are below the poverty line and 57% are black. Most are blue collar workers and the median value of owner-occupied homes is just $41,700. So, one has to wonder: Would this have happened in a white suburb? Would it have taken over a year for officials to respond? Historically, the answer is no.

It’s important to understand that the Flint disaster isn’t just the result of negligence. City officials made a conscious decision to pump corrosive, notoriously contaminated water into the homes of its residents. They also made a conscious decision to not properly treat the water. Once things got really bad, city officials did everything they could to cover it up. Flint residents are calling for answers and solutions, all while trying to survive on one case of bottled water per day.

Protesters in Detroit, Michigan during the height of the water shutoffs (thedailybeast.com)

Access to clean water is a human right. We literally cannot live without it. But, time and again poor people and people of color are denied this human right in the US. Just this last summer, water was shut off for 3,000 households in Detroit because of past-due accounts. Thousands more are at risk for losing their water– in fact, 40% of Detroit, 120,000 accounts and about 300,000 people, have outstanding water bills at an average of $755 per household. Detroit Water Brigade is one of many non-profits working to stop the shutoffs and implement a water affordability program.

Water shutoffs in Detroit and contaminated water in Flint have two important things in common: high rates of poverty and high proportions of black residents. It is no coincidence that both of these human rights violations occurred in areas of high rates of poverty and majority black population. When you consistently demonize, criminalize, and disinvest in poor or black people and black communities, a clear message is sent both to civilian constituents and city officials: these people aren’t worth our time and money and they don’t care anyway. That’s what Flint city and Michigan state officials conveyed to Flint residents and, eventually, the entire country.

Lee Ann Walters shows MotherJones.com the water from her tap

The thing is, the people of Flint do care. Lee Ann Walters is the mother of four who blew the whistle on the whole issue. It was because of her and a report from the EPA that was leaked to her that the national media began to pay attention to the issue. She organized residents for town hall meetings with city officials on numerous occasions, only to be met with dismissals and the same story about how the water was safe. In this viral video, she explains another issue with the water: she’s still being billed for it. If you can’t pay for your water, they shut it off. If you have no water, Child Protective Services get called in to remove your children from an “unfit” and “unsanitary” home. After 90 days of not paying the water bill, they cap your sewer which can lead to having your house condemned. There’s already a stigma on poor families and single parent households, especially single mothers. We call them unfit, or suggest they don’t care about their children. They are assumed to be less educated and less concerned about health issues, and now the stigma has played into how this whole thing went down: not only have classist and sexist assumptions allowed officials to dismiss local concerns for months, but they can also cause families to be uprooted or become homeless. This is what makes this issue not only a human rights issue but a social justice and feminist issue. 

Protesters in Flint, Michigan (rollingstone.com)

The residents of Flint deserve justice. Sure, officials need to be held accountable for their actions but what Flint needs right now is water. Flint needs investment. Flint needs new pipes and more jobs and better access to healthcare and government assistance programs. Flint needs schools and teachers equipped to meet the needs of the hundreds of children who have been affected by lead poisoning. Activist Michael Moore has written an open letter expressing his anger and calling for accountability and revolution. Whether or not you agree with him, it’s clear that this is a social justice issue. And, if we claim intersectional feminism as a value and practice, this is an issue feminists need to rally around as well.  

Understanding how structures of poverty, racism, and sexism set this problem up (and inform what happens next) can help activists, policy makers, and leaders keep this kind of thing from ever happening again. It can also help us answer these questions: Why didn’t it become an issue sooner? Who matters — and who doesn’t? Where else in this country are people in crisis without a voice? What will it take to get us to notice? Will we be too late?

If you want to do more to help flint, check out the Flint Water Response Team website or this article listing different areas in need of donations. The Flint water crisis didn’t become widely known and publicized until fairly recently and the EPA is still not happy with how the recovery is going. Spreading the word, sending water, and putting pressure on officials is crucial in the short term, but Flint has a long, long expensive road ahead.

A post written by Women’s Center student staff member, Carrie Cleveland

I have never been one to label myself a feminist. I think it is because what comes into my mind when I think of feminism is the 1960s – 1970s pop culture version where women were marching in the street and burning their bras (come to find out that this idea in my head is actually a myth). I never really identified with those women, so I pushed the topic to the side. THEN….. I started working here in the Women’s Center.

As a staff member, we are all encouraged to actively learn and one of the ways that I’m doing that is by reading. My background on all things feminism is much more  grounded in pop culture than it is theory. I’ve never taken a Gender and Women’s Studies class, like so many of my Women’s Center peers. Sometimes I struggle with the language and the theory so we thought this would be a good way for me to start my learning. Jess suggested that I dip my toe into the feminist blogosphere and start with some more approachable topics and accessible authors. As I’m reading and clicking and getting lost in all things women, I came across this blog written by Jamie Kennedy titled 10 Things Feminist Moms Do Differently Than Any Other Parents.

As I was scrolling, I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. One of the first ideas the author presents is about disrupting gender norms. Now I have three girls and a VERY handy husband. He’s always building or fixing something so we did not hesitate to get my kids a tool set when they were little. When my husband was beginning a project, my daughter would run down and grab her hammer so she could help her dad with something. Perhaps these experiences are why she sees being a scientist and an astronaut as career options. I never thought of that as feminist idea, more so that she wanted to hang out with her dad. Look at that! I did not even know I was challenging gender norms. Go me! 

One of the next topics explored that resonated with me was about consent. There was a time where another daughter was playing soccer and this boy pushed her. It was not part of the game; he just walked up to her and pushed her down. She came off the field and on the sideline we were having a conversation about her telling that boy that he had no right to touch her in that way. The blog pointed out to me that this was laying the groundwork about consent. It also opened the door for more conversation about personal space, boundaries, and expectations for ourselves and others. Again, my purpose was not intentional, but woohoo!

I basically found myself nodding my head to the memes about vaginas and of supporting whatever choice a woman makes about working. Ranting (which is explained in the blog as way to show our children we are passionate and thoughtful people too!), well I truly thought that was the Jersey in me and not the feminist, but why can’t it be both, right?More feminism that I did not even know about. As I reflect about who I am now and what the word feminist means, I’m starting to understand that feminism has a broader meaning. I now feel like I can embrace the label “feminist” and be more cognizant of my parenting choices when talking about women and gender. Next time my daughters say something about boys and girls, I imagine these ideas will come to mind when I thoughtfully choose to my words.

My oldest daughter visiting NASA Goddard with the Girl Scouts.

I want my daughters to know that they can do anything. My oldest is determined to be an astronaut and I realize now that she has no idea that Sally Ride did something unthinkable to many in 1983 because it is not unthinkable to her. The American Association of University Women (AAUW) put together this report on why women in STEM is so important and here is another blog post about how we don’t even recognize successful women who are already in STEM.

My daughter, Vivian, hanging out at the Women’s Center working away

Moms know we are often very reluctant to sing our own praises, but hopefully I am doing something right with these three girls. Who knows, maybe one of them will be the director the Women’s Center one day.

A blog reflection written by Women’s Center intern Julia Gottlieb. 

After reading the Baltimore City Paper’s recent daily Power Rankings, I got to thinking a lot about white women and women of color’s status in the arts. Three weeks ago, UMBC’s Theatre department held their annual New Playwrights Festival, featuring student playwrights.

I attended one night of the Festival, and got to see Elizabeth Ung’s play, a story that on the surface is about a sister and brother surviving in a post-apocalyptic world, but underneath it poses deeper questions of morality and emotional survival. Ung, who is a student of color here at UMBC, explains that she was inspired to write plays after taking a play-writing class through the theater department last semester, saying “[Playwriting] was something that I felt like I always wanted to do, to tell stories. It’s something that I want to do to get my voice out there.” Additionally, her characters are inspired by her everyday experiences and interactions with those around her: “I definitely get a lot from my own experiences, because that’s really the only reliable resource that I can definitely count on. You know, the littlest conversations can inspire dialogue and conflict within the plot.” This is especially important given the severe lack of representation of women of color and their experiences within theater and the arts as a whole.

Here is a helpful infograph to visually show the state of women’s representation in the arts. Even here an intersectional view on this issue is missing, and women of color’s experiences are not represented.

We know that white women have significantly less representation than men in play-writing and in theater overall. Meanwhile, women of color’s voices and experiences are even more underrepresented. Along with this disparity, there is a lack of comprehensive studies that specifically track the numbers of women of color playwrights and directors within theater in both specific cities and across the country. One study finds that of the plays being produced in Washington DC this season, “80% of playwrights are white, 7% are African American, 6% are Latino, 2% are Asian American and 2% are multi-ethnic.” This study gives a sense of the vast disparities that already exist within DC’s theatrical productions. The study’s lack of attention to intersectionality is illustrative of the fundamental problem of representation–the voices of white men and white women have more representation than the voices of women of color. And as long as women of color’s voices are not represented, a vast number of important experiences and viewpoints go ignored and invalidated.

In his piece, Unpacking ‘Diversity’ in Musical Theatre, Michael R. Jackson explains that rather than focusing on fulfilling a diversity quota, theater’s ultimate goal should be “to hold the mirror up to humanity and reflect it back (or distort it) in order to share, person-to-person, what it means to exist in joy and suffering in the world.” Representation matters to me because it affects what stories are being told and who gets to have a place in the world. I want the mirror to reflect an honest view of humanity and its diverse voices.

For example, as someone who identifies as fat (or plus-size if you prefer), the character Rae from the British TV show My Mad Fat Diary was very important to me because I had never seen a larger girl as the main character of a TV show. Seeing someone who looks like me on TV–having the mirror held up to reflect my life and my experiences was so affirming for me and I want everyone to be able to have that experience.

Representation is how we find characters to relate to, take comfort in, and hold up the mirror to and for ourselves. The arts are at a crucial time to make that a reality for more women of color and other underrepresented people. 

A blog reflection written by Women’s Center staff member Kayla Smith. 

Society tells us that women are too sensitive. We’re crazy emotional creatures who are fragile and people need to tiptoe around us and our sensitive flower petal feelings. Because of this stereotype, I spend a lot of time unpacking my issues with certain comments, blog posts, statements and phrases. Is something truly offensive or am I just being a baby? Is something harmful or am I overreacting?

Recently, I attended the first soccer game of the season here at UMBC. I’m not typically a big sports person but I really like sporting events because of the sense of community, which is especially important at UMBC since we’re often seen as lacking in the school spirit department.

I tend to forget how often sports fans rely on sexism and homophobia in their heckling. While I’m framing my experience in the context of UMBC, no sports game is absent of these things. Unfortunately, it seems to be a part of the culture as a whole because every time without fail every time I go to any type of game I end up having this conversation with a stranger:

Expressive gentleman sitting behind me: “HEY [insert number of player here] YOU SUCK AND YOUR MOTHER IS A WHORE.”

Me (startled): “That’s so mean geez why would you say that?”

Man (with feeling): “It’s a sporting event. Get used to it”

So it goes. 

For some reason I thought maybe it would be different this time, but I was disappointed — though perhaps not surprised — when I was proven wrong less than twenty minutes into the game.  From a few bleachers over I hear:

“HEY! You run like a fairy!” (Fairy?! Are we still using that? What year is this? I didn’t even know that was still a slur of choice.)

And it continued like that for the rest of the game even after joining Lot 17, the unofficial supporters group for the UMBC Men’s Varsity Soccer team. Here are a few more comments:

“Steven shaves his legs!” (Wouldn’t this make him more aerodynamic or something? This could be a good thing.)

“YOU HAVE A VAGINA!” (Do you have any idea how strong vaginas are?)

“Black lives matter! Get more black people on the field!“ (Shouted mockingly even though there were a significant amount of black players on the field…? ಠ_ಠ)

Sigh.

From sexism, to homophobia, to toxic masculinity to racism. All within the span of just a few minutes! Not exactly the safest space for a queer black woman, like me, to be in.

The first couple times I heard these comments I turned to those sitting near me and tried to express my concerns with the problematic nature of the heckles coming from other sports fans. But no one around me really seemed to care, or at least I was the only one to speak up. The overwhelming response was the typical “That’s just sports.” 

“You play ball like a girl!” A quintessential sports jeer rooted in sexism and toxic masculinity.

I’m not shy, and I’m more than willing to speak up when I hear something offensive or upsetting. But when no one else supports me or even acknowledges that there’s a problem it makes me start to wonder if I’m the only one noticing that there’s rampant sexism, homophobia, and racism. I feel silenced and alienated from my peers. It makes me feel like that sense of community that I came to the game for is gone.

As much fun as I was having, it was hard to truly enjoy the game and the atmosphere because almost every comment seemed to follow the same line of thinking. “If I feminize you, liken you to a woman, or attack your manhood, you are bad at sports.” Comparing male athletes to women in a derogatory way reinforces negative stereotypes and equates masculinity with strength and athleticism.

Instead of alienating women, LGBTQIA students, and students of color, we should be building a better more inclusive fan base. There are a lot of things some students did right! The “Where my dogs at?” chants and the spirit fingers whenever there was a penalty kick were definitely highlights of my Lot 17 experience. The crowd demonstrated that there are ways to have fun and effective chants, cheers (and jeers) that don’t rely on denigrating marginalized groups. So I know we can do better.

I want to keep attending the soccer games with my friends and I want to continue supporting our teams. But it’s hard to feel included and part of the community if your peers are very loudly letting you know that your kind isn’t wanted. With inclusivity becoming more of a prominent priority for UMBC, it would be in everyone’s best interest to do what we can do to make this campus a better environment for all of its students.

To combat homophobia in sports there’s the You Can Play campaign, which UMBC currently participates in. (awesome!)

Rebuilding Manhood (a Women’s Center curriculum-based program)  brings together self-identified men as they discuss toxic masculinity, gender norms, and how the patriarchy plays into their daily lives. (applications are closed now but consider applying in the spring!)

A blog reflection written by Women’s Center student staff member, Carrie Cleveland

For the past ten years I have not had a paying job.  For the past ten years I have been home raising children.  For the past ten years my boss (or bosses) were little people who required me to tend to their every need. That is not a job where anyone gives you money.  There are performance reviews, bonuses, deadlines, and a ton of stress, but no monetary paycheck.

This week I started my first paying job in ten years.  I am the newest student staff member at the Women’s Center.  I am helping to program the Peer Connections Program for Returning Women Students for the next academic year.  Day one was perfect.  I was here on time, got my work done and went home without any drama.  Day two, well that is a different story.

Two hours into my five hour shift I got a phone call from my daughter’s school.  Luckily my husband was home so he could handle the situation, but he seems to forget that I am a work.  I am here to do a job and I am not available to answer every question immediately.  Now, I am not a globe-trotting mechanical engineer like he is, but this is a job and something that means a great deal to me.  So, after a quick little vent to my supervisor, Jess, I realize I may need to set some limits with him.

As I enter the world of a working person again, this means that some things in my home life will change.  I feel like it is a good build up to when I have a full time job as a social worker in a couple of years.  I also think it is great that my three daughters see that mom can do things that are important to her and that my life does not completely revolve around their lives.  So here I am.  A working mom.  Not a title I ever envisioned for myself, but I kinda dig it.

So after the longest run of any woman in the history of the United States Congress, Senator Barbara Mikulski of Maryland is retiring after this 114^th Congress in 2017. And for some reason, I am feeling some sort of way about it.

I have been incensed to write this ever since Senator Mikulski’s retirement announcement, not because she is my policy-making idol or someone who defines what feminism looks like for me. To be quite honest, I have not followed her every vote, nor her every speech. But there’s something to Senator Mikulski that I have always looked up to. She is a symbol to me—a symbol of a woman who is not afraid to take up space. A symbol I have always needed.

On the right, Barbara Mikulski in 1994.

Senator Mikulski has always been known to me as a woman who has stomped forward and demanded her due. Who attested to being “one of those emotional women” on the Senate floor while arguing for pay equity; who, early in her career, was the only other percentage point of women in the U.S. Senate. Women I know, admire, and who inspire me daily—my mother being one of them—have always touted her as their own “shero.” Why? Because, Senator Mikulski did not try to maintain a new sense of subtlety or feminine gentleness when she got to the Senate—no, she made her bombastic nature her signature. Something that just was her essence. She was fiery and passionate about issues, and that’s where her political energy came from.

And it’s not only her personality, but it’s the fact that Barbara Mikulski is also no waif. And I mean no disrespect to the Senator at all—rather, I mean only respect. This woman is small and sturdy. She is not the Claire Underwood or Olivia Pope on our television, but the 4’11” juggernaut who wears pants on the Senate floor when she goddamn feels like it. Senator Mikulski’s visage, like her personality, is unapologetic.

And as a woman who can’t stop muttering “I’m sorrys” to every person who accidentally(?) pushes me on the sidewalk, I need that symbol of unabashed space taking up-ness that Senator Mikulski has always been for me. As a woman who does have wide-set shoulders, wide-set hips, and a loud, wide way of talking about what thing is making her angriest, I need to know that I can succeed with that. As a woman who has always had her fire for social justice doused by naysayers or “realists,” I need someone who is bent on raising hell till her and her loved ones get the rights they deserve. And finally, as a woman who has struggled with body, intelligence, and political insecurity in a patriarchal world, Senator Mikulski has always been somebody who I would look to when I was down, and realize, “I can take up this space, because I deserve it and I am more than worthy.”  

I hope that anybody reading this who faces similar or maybe even more complex insecurities than I do, can hopefully treat this post as a push towards finding that someone—be they a celebrity, a politician, or a peer in class—who makes you realize you are worthy of the skin you’re in and the space you inhabit. Maybe they do it through their ferocity (like my Senator Barb), their creativity, their stoicism, but either way, they help you to be you to the fullest, and they awaken the opportunity to celebrate yourself and the uniqueness that makes you you. Because sometimes, in our weakest moments, all we need is to feel inspired to know that we are worthy.

*And here is my disclaimer on “problematic faves”: I am often one of the first to recognize the problematic nature of anything that exists in the world. It’s not that I am trying to be a dark shadow, a pox upon the happiness of all the smiling people in the room. No, rather, it is simply a personal habit of mine to critically analyze something until its not fun any more (I’ll do it to the Oscars, I’ll do it to your fave, and I’ll keep doing it, I tell you). However, I wanted to add this disclaimer, because I know that Senator Barbara Mikulski has done and said what are probably problematic things to many. I’m certain I could find hurt in what she’s said if I read enough, but I also am not going to let that ruin this moment. I am going to bask in that Senator Barbara Mikulski Sun that always makes me feel like I can carpe all the diems, and I am going to feel positive about it. So, please, allow me the indulgence of stoking the fangirling fire a little longer, oh fellow killjoys, because all of our faves are problematic, and sometimes that’s just gotta be okay.

Critical Social Justice organizers Amelia Meman, Lisa Gray, and Megan Tagle Adams share a few of their thoughts about self-care in/as social justice work. 

AMELIA: Coming up on CSJ 2015, I’m thinking about generosity, compassion, and sustainability, especially in regard to how these connect with movement building and the self. I think about generosity in regard to the tough situations we get into (the difficult dialogues, you could say), and how I and others should be cognizant about the differences we are bringing into conversations and the mutual respect we all deserve; the generosity we extend is integral to building bridges and coalition. With our selves, in small conversations, in bigger conversations, between movements, I hope we can strive for generosity while continuing to work towards a more critical engagement. Compassion is directly related to how I try to deal with both myself, and others. I try to be aware of the needs of others, to listen and learn from them, to care and empower them, while also trying to know when I need to take care of myself—when I need compassion. This act of self-care and the generosity above are crucial to both my sustainability as a (critical) social justice warrior and to Critical Social Justice itself. As we work towards building a campus initiative that will continue into the years, I am focused on all three of the aspects—generosity, compassion, and sustainability—the cyclical nature between them, and the way they affect both our groups and the individuals in them.

LISA: Yes, Amelia. Your idea of of viewing social justice movement building through the lenses of generosity, compassion and sustainability resonates with me! Far too often, those of us who engage in what we hope is (critical) and reflective social justice work, here at UMBC and beyond, short change the “how” of the work as it relates to self care and community care. It’s hard to be generous with our energies, talents, and skills or have compassion for others when we don’t take the time to give it to ourselves first. And yes, as Audre Lorde so beautifully stated, “caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” As I think about both my personal role as well as the Student Life Mosaic Center’s role in actively supporting sustainability for CSJ in 2015 and beyond, I believe it can happen only by intentionally engaging in high levels of generosity and compassion as well as empathy and self-reflection. I believe that empathy will help us better relate to one another’s unique positionality as we move through the intersectional aspects of our shared work while self-reflection will keep us honest about how our privileged and underrepresented identities either help or hinder the impact of that work. This year’s theme of Creating Brave Spaces provides a great platform for us to use generosity, compassion, empathy and self-reflection to help our campus to learn and grow as educators, activists and (critical) social justice change agents in person or online.

MEGAN: Amelia and Lisa, that quote from Audre Lorde that you both reference has also been instrumental in shaping my own approach to self-care and sustainability in doing social justice work. While social media has made it much easier for me to constantly learn about various social justice issues and perspectives that I may not have otherwise encountered, I’m also trying to be mindful of the impact of this immersion. I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the (perhaps self-imposed) pressure to be all in at all times. When I feel intellectually and emotionally exhausted after a long day of engaging in these difficult dialogues, even scrolling through Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook doesn’t provide much of a respite since my feeds are about 90% feminism-related and 10% cat pictures. However, for me it’s been helpful to shift my understanding of what self-care looks like so that it doesn’t necessarily mean taking a break from social change work but rather re-framing my own commitment social justice as an act of self-preservation and self-care in itself.

A collaborative authorship post from Bria Hamlet and Jess Myers

Jess:
You guessed it! It’s that time of the year when the Women’s Center staff crushes your Halloween costume dreams and makes you feel guilty about your costume decisions. Sexist! Racist! Cultural appropriation! We know, we’re just no fun… but someone’s gotta do it.

A Halloween costume that represented Jess’ dreams of becoming the first female baseball player in Major League Baseball.

But in all seriousness, this is an important conversation…. one that I wish I would have had with thoughtful intersectional feminists back in my growing up days. I didn’t know what cultural appropriation was in 3rd grade… or if I’m being honest, in college. Halloween costumes I regret include dressing as a Harem Girl and a nagging wife (ugh, just writing those words breaks my women’s center director heart) among others. I feel guilty about these choices and up until now, I’ve done my best to keep these secrets to myself but somewhere along the way these memories have been shared with Women’s Center staff members and together we’ve walked down memory lane of costumes of Halloween past. We’ve used these conversations as an opportunity for us to hold up the mirror for ourselves and others. We are not exempt from histories of making harmful choices in our Halloween gear. By allowing ourselves to look into the mirror of racism, sexism, and cultural appropriation, we hope to diffuse the guilt and defensive that often comes from having these conversations related to Halloween costumes of choice so we can all dig a bit deeper into that critical thought and dialogue.

Plus… what better way to share some of our childhood photos from Halloweens of the 1980s and 90s!

 * * * * *

Bria:
I was an angel, a princess, and a pink Power Ranger in pursuit of candy. Queen Amidala and Mulan searched for the most haunting home decor while Cleopatra and Tinkerbell prepared for horror movie marathons with friends. It all started out so harmless.

Yoo-Jin takes on the “tweeter” side of being a pirate!

I have never taken the time to reflect on how the intent of celebrating Halloween changes from childhood to adulthood. Historically, All Hallows’ Eve has been about terrifying confrontations with the dead, but these days I have been aghast at the overpriced sexism on Party City’s walls. For just $49.99, you can please the patriarchy and unleash your inner sexist all in one night!

Halloween has become a night for adults to indulge in repressed fantasies through costume. I am cringing as I recall the year I decided to costume as Playboy Bunny (before I could even legally be one). I now believe that if this industry wasn’t so hellbent on supplying women with only “sexy” options for Halloween, then women everywhere could proudly say they wanted to dress like that, not that they were left optionless. It’s bad enough that women are oversexualized everyday, and this ‘tradition’ reinforces the idea that any effort put into appearing sexy is to please men. And thus, we welcome you to the Sexy Halloween Costume Industry!

Megan (on the left) with her Wonder Woman sister.

I chose my own costumes and wore them happily. My only regret is the lack of thought I put into the message I sent to the rest of the world. While I hoped my sexy schoolgirl costume screamed “I am poking fun at my all-girl secondary education and embracing my sexuality all at one time!,” I know that was not the case. Truly feminist costumes should leave you feeling respected, empowered, and happy. Although I am still struggling to settle on a costume idea, I am pleased to have the awesome resources below for some feminist costuming inspiration! Check them out!

* * * * *

What is cultural appropriation?

On Appropriation vs Appreciation
Costume Fails from @Chescaleigh
What Not to Wear on Halloween… a Stuff Mom Never Told You Podcast

Amelia’s love for cats started early on….

Daniel  as Flick, the blue ant!

Get Creative!

Feminist Halloween Costumes – a Post from Feministing with so many other cool links
Women in History Halloween Costume Ideas
5 Feminist Halloween Costumes… a video from Stuff Mom Never Told You

Get your Activism On!

Halloween Liberation Kit
We’re a culture, not a costume
How to tell your friend they’re Halloween costume is racist

Oh hey RAs! A Halloween Bulletin Board at your finger tips!