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I watched a DVD last night, “The strength to resist; media’s impact on women and girls” from Cambridge Documentary Films. These are the same people who made the “Killing us softly” movies about the images of women in advertising. Sometimes we hear viewpoints such as these, here and there, calling us out of the culture of image and into a worldview where diversity is celebrated. But those voices are such whispers compared to the monster that is the modern media.

Even though many western women can vote, can read, can work for wages, we are still being oppressed in a more insidious way. Noam Chomsky refers to “the battle for men’s minds,” when in a supposed democracy those in power cannot force our submission with military force they must find other means or lose their power. Thy do this through propaganda or, as we call it currently, mass media. The public becomes focused on sporting events and Brittany Spears rather than politics, the environment, and human rights. We become insecure and desperate to fulfill the created needs sold to us by advertisement. We become fearful of the many threats broadcast on the news and allow our freedoms to be taken away in the name of protection. This attitude of mass hysteria and hopelessness leaves the powers that be free to behave as they will without our interference and often with our consent. How handy for them.

How deeply I have internalized these messages. How thoroughly I have learned the lessons taught by Mother Culture. How swiftly I will pull myself back in line when I stray from the rules. That voice in our heads, chastising, criticizing, demeaning, demoralizing. My internal dialogue, always noticing my ”imperfections” and voicing them to myself, to other women, and - especially heinously - to young women.  “One person can’t make a difference.” “Do I look fat in this?” “She is so skinny, what a bitch.” ”I hate my _____ (insert body part or personal characteristic here)!” Every time I speak this language of shame, I myself become the instrument of indoctrination that consumes love and confidence and self-agency. By cutting myself and others down, I become part of that cycle, that machine, that pushes us through the grinder of conformity.

When I stop speaking that language, in my head or out loud. I am punished by the voice in my head and by my culture. They scream “Who do you think you are?! Who are you to accept yourself? Who are you to feel pleasure without guilt? Get back in your place and do what we tell you or the whole world will fall apart!” And so, I put the shackles back on. I seek to please, I am the good girl who demonstrates that I am worthy of love by being self-less. Think about that: SELF-LESS. Without self.  Just try to be self-ish and see how the world responds. No one loves a selfish woman. Ideal feminine images are giving, giving, giving. From the mother to the whore. They give themselves away, endlessly, in a propaganda induced obscenity. We are social creatures, like orphan children in Romania we will die without interaction and touch and love. The threatened loss of love, of rejection, has motivated humans to do terrible terrible things. In this case we reject or hide our selves in order to avoid being rejected by others and by our culture.

In the video, one of the presenters spoke about how each woman today ”stands on the shoulders of giants.” It refers to a letter written by Isaac Newton, in which he states the following: “If I have seen a little further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants.” The expression is often used to indicate the cumulative nature of human progress where we build on the discoveries and accomplishments of others, doing more over time than one person could ever accomplish in their lifespan.

The speaker in the film was referring to the ways women won the vote, gained reproductive rights, and so forth. I, for one, am inexpressably grateful that I am a person under the law, that I can own property, that I am educated, that I have legal recourse if I am abused, that I can vote, that I can run in an election or participate in a protest and influence the laws and institutions of my society. All of these things came about because some women (along with some like-minded male supporters) sought to create new roles for themselves according to a vision that was different than the status quo. Well, I have a vision.

I claim the right to define myself. To decide who I am and who I will be. To decide that I am beautiful and valuable and meaningful exactly as I am during every moment of my life. I assert that all persons also have the right to choose their own identity. Even to change it, to re-invent themselves. To be in the minority and still be granted human rights and protection from harm. To be gay or Native or fat or short or poor or transgendered or unmarried or a person with a disability. To wear a mohawk or a piercing or a tie or to go bra-less. I will speak the language of diversity, of celebration, of personal empowerment instead of oppression. I will seek out and share representations that set us free from the boxes of pretty, of manly, of pure. Or at least, I will try. I will need support and I will support others who are also on this journey. No longer will I internalize this pain, nor instill it in others. I will not eat this shame.

I will see beyond what this culture offers me and work towards my vision. I will claim the right to shape my own culture and to determine how it shapes me. With my education, reproductive rights, and property - gained by the suffragettes and Renaissance witches and feminists who came before me - I will stand on the shoulders of these giants and continue to build the platform of perspective higher. And someday, someone will stand on this great chain of being and see beyond where I see now. This chain of environmentalists, of protestors, of prisoners, of activists, of dreamers, of musicians, of writers, of advocates, of visionaries, of community builders. They will have the right I seek to bestow, just as I have the rights bestowed upon me. We are not the pinnacle of human society. Better is possible. 

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