Fibre of the Brain

Feminism: the forgotten fight

ERIN LEWIS/YH

On Thurs., Apr. 13, as hooded secret society members roamed the streets snatching blindfolded recruits from doorways, and a handful of ardent sweatshop protesters settled in for another long night on Beinecke Plaza, I stood on Cross Campus at the "Take Back the Night" rally and remembered what it meant to be a woman. It was an uncomfortable feeling, standing in the middle of Yale's campus on a Thursday night listening to a few brave women—far braver than I—read out testimonies and statistics about all the terrible things that could happen to me just because I am female. The whole idea of being a victim, the rhetoric of the patriarchal society that was trying to keep me down, felt like a rant. Despite the violent, upsetting stories the women told, despite the statistics of sexual violence that I knew were true, I felt silly, almost quaint, participating in a feminist rally—as if next we would light a bonfire and start burning bras. After all, it seemed that we had nothing to complain about. Surely we were equal to men by now. We go to Yale. We are headed for successful careers in whatever we want. Strict laws protect us against rape, sexual assault, and domestic abuse. Feminism, as our mothers and grandmothers knew it anyway, has outlived its purpose. Their battles have been won. So what was all the fuss about?

"There has been a backlash against women ever since women got uppity," prominent feminist Germaine Greer recently said in an interview. "Uppity," an adjective that white people often used pejoratively about black people who took their freedoms for granted, could not be more descriptive of the Yale woman. She is confident, she is assertive, and she has every intention of having a career before she has children. But when she goes to the dining hall, she still feels guilty about eating ice cream. When she takes science classes, she still leaves math and engineering to the boys. And when she goes out at night, she still avoids going to Toad's alone. The Yale woman may be uppity, but she is still a woman. And, despite all the advances, despite the career opportunities and the legal rights, women in 2000 are not all that different than women in 1950. They face the same impossible beauty standards and the same aversion to certain academic subjects. Above all, they face the same underlying fears.

It is easy for men, and for many women as well, to claim that few women have to fear men on a daily basis. Sure, the presumptive wisdom goes, there are the poor souls who get stuck in abusive relationships with crazy, wife-beating men, or who get raped in alleyways by drunken frat boys, but most women are respected and protected. Unfortunately, this presumption is just plain false. Fifty percent of women are beaten at some point in their lives (one woman every 15 seconds), and an estimated 25 percent of all women are raped—although most do not report it. Still, for those lucky enough to have avoided such a situation thus far, it is easy to perpetuate the myth that most women no longer have to harbor fear or uneasiness just because of their sex. I can walk down a city street in broad daylight and reasonably expect that nothing terrible will happen to me. But I still cannot reasonably expect that I will be treated with the respect accorded a man. Although most women quickly learn to ignore it, a woman of average appearance walking down the streets of a major city for half an hour—particularly in the summer—can expect to receive at least five sexually suggestive comments from men she has never seen before. In the daytime, this is nothing more than an uncomfortable annoyance—albeit one that should not have to be endured. But at night, it can be a frightening problem, one that would make it downright stupid for a woman to go out to a bar, a night club, or even just for a walk on her own.

One of the testimonies read aloud last Thursday described a Yale woman's experience traveling in a foreign country. She went to a bar alone, and was drugged, raped, and infected with HIV. My father traveled through Europe for two months following his college graduation with nothing but his backpack as a companion, and he had the best time of his life. Thirty years later, in a far more female-empowered world, I cannot repeat his experience—simply because I am a woman. In one year, I will graduate with a degree from one of the most prestigious institutions in the country. I will enter the work force and I will hopefully live a life as full and as successful as that of a man. But I will never be able to travel as if I were a man, never be able to go out as if I were a man, never be able to walk down the street as if I were a man. I might be successful, but I will never be equal. Feminism may have outgrown its popularity, but its war has not been won.

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