Students should try new ideals, see what fits them
I’m an undergraduate student from the University of Leeds, England, undertaking my study abroad year at the University of South Carolina. As far as allegiances to feminism go, before this year I was, to a large extent, agnostic.
I was agitated by music videos with flashing images of isolated butts and boobs and legs, but didn’t do much about it. I had never been wholly impressed by low-budget, whiny girl-meets-guy romantic comedies — but I love “The Notebook.” I kicked and screamed about Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines,” yet had it on my iPod, and I hated being referred to as “girl,” but frequently invited my “girlies” out for drinks. I protested against instances of sexism as much as the next self-respecting woman, but when the cause died down, so did my voice.
Perhaps I wasn’t even agnostic, I was just confused.
Then I moved to South Carolina in August and my views gradually changed. The loud-and-proud right-wing ideological climate in this state is so at odds with what I’m used to at home that it immediately became easy to recognize and articulate my views, by way of confrontation, disagreement and debate.
I started coming into collision with drastically sexist views and behavior. Walking to the Clemson game last semester, there was a campaigner standing by the road with a billboard display next to him that had graphic pictures of abortions and dead fetuses. The boards read, “God is Judging South Carolina for over 360,000 abortions” and “God Bless America?” When my roommate refused to take one of this man’s leaflets, he began to shout “WITCH!” at her as we quickly proceeded down the road.
I have also been dispirited by the dancing style infamously known as “twerking,” as kindly demonstrated by Miley Cyrus at her twerk-de-triomphe debut during the VMAs. As I watched her gyrate around a foam finger, I winced inside at the thought that media portrayals of women had just managed to take yet another step backwards. The everyday effect of her behavior can be clearly seen when venturing on a night out to Five Points to see girls grabbing their ankles and thrusting their butts into the air as if it’s the new Macarena.
Then there was the moment it happened. The moment that the red wax seal stamped down and confirmed it: “I’m a feminist.” In a question and answer session with four of South Carolina’s most famous women’s rights activists, one of the speakers assured us that young women would not remain as ignorant as feminists of former generations like to make out. She professed,
“Don’t worry. The moment that young women come into collision with real-life sexism and discrimination will be the moment they’ll realize how much the world needs feminism.”
My moment came two weeks later, during a presentation about sexual violence and assault. A member of the audience piped up and suggested that, “all of the girls who go out to Five Points at Halloween dressed as black cats are asking for it.” With that comment, I went to my dorm room and bashed out my indignant piece “Why 21st-century Feminism is a Worthy Fight.”
Realizing which allegiances you have to a particular ideology is like going shopping. You browse through shops, trying on ideas, seeing how they fit, horrified by some pieces and elated by others. The bits you like the most you take home and add to your wardrobe. One of the things I cherish the most about moving to South Carolina has been the liberating, educational and invaluable opportunity it has afforded me to have this experience.