Fight Like a Girl MEGAN SEELY Fight Like a Girl How to Be a Fearless Feminist a New York University Press • NewYork and London new york university press New York and London www.nyupress.org © 2007 by New York University All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Seely, Megan. Fight like a girl : how to be a fearless feminist / Megan Seely. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-8147-4001-9 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-8147-4001-4 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-8147-4002-6 (pbk. : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-8147-4002-2 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Feminism. 2. Women's rights. I. Title. HQ1236.S37 2006 305.42—dc22 2006023651 New York University Press books are printed on acid-free paper, and their binding materials are chosen for strength and durability. Manufactured in the United States of America c 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 p 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Dedicated to all those who came before me, those who stand with me, and those who will come after me. And to my sisters, Aimee and Amanda Contents Acknowledgments ix Preface: How I Became a Teenage Activist xi The F-Word:An Introduction 1 1. Fight Like a Girl 15 2. Catch a Wave 27 3. A Movement for Everyone 59 4. At the Table 93 5. Good Enough 122 6. Knock ’Em Up . Knock ’Em Down 147 7. Fighting Back 185 8. Like a Girl 218 Appendix A:Timeline and Checklist for Action 227 Appendix B: Building an Activist Kit 231 Appendix C: How to Write a Press Release 233 Appendix D: Guidelines to a Good Media Interview 235 Appendix E: Guidelines to Creating and Earning Effective Media 239 Appendix F: Feminist Shopping Guide 243 Appendix G:Where to Donate Stuff 247 Notes 251 Bibliography 263 Index 275 About the Author 279 vii Acknowledgments I would not have been able to write this book—or to think the way that I do—without the women who came before me, who fought for my rights before I even existed. From my grandmothers and mother to the women of the movement, I owe a debt of gratitude to all those who fought to allow me to grow up in a world knowing the possibility of equality. May my voice, my commitment, my activism be my contribu- tion to this legacy. To my editor, Ilene Kalish, you took a conversation and turned it into a book. Thank you for educating me about the world of publishing, thank you for protecting me in this endeavor, and thank you for being such an amazing advocate. You honor your profession and readers everywhere. And thank you to everyone at NYU Press! To Jonathan—thank you for being my partner and friend, for en- couraging me, and for helping this dream come true. To my mom—who read everything I wrote before anyone else saw it. Who would I be without you? You are brilliant! I promise to return the favor . when you write your book. To my dad—thank you for being the kind of dad men can look up to. Thank you for never apologizing that you had only daughters. And thank you for encouraging us to be the best we could be, not in spite of but because of our gender. To my sisters—how lucky I am to have two sisters . you are my inspiration, my laughter, and my best memories. That we have become friends beyond sisters is icing on the cake! To Helen—a mentor who became a friend and who told me that if the process of creating this book wasn’t at least a little bit painful, the book would never become a feminist classic. I am thankful every day that our paths have met. ix x ACKNOWLEDGMENTS To good friends who listened endlessly to my ideas, rants, highs, and lows—thank you for your confidence and encouragement through- out this journey. To Aidan, Adam, Emma, Devon, Ella, Gwendolyn, Sarah, Owen, Kate, Josie Jane, Taylor, Riley, Cian, Ashley, and all children—may my generation do our work to leave you a better world. To Nikki, Elena, Mandy, Rosemary, Beth, and Rachel—you are all fabulous feminists. Thank you for your input and encouragement. You honor the movement with your contributions. To all those in the field, working every day to secure our rights and safety—where would we all be without you? In memory and honor of Dido Hasper . and to everyone at Women’s Health Specialists/Feminist Women’s Health Centers—thank you for all that you have taught me, for empowering me to see my body in a new and healthy way, and for your contributions, directly and in- directly, to this book. To my students, past and present—thank you for helping to create an environment where education is a shared experience, an exchange of ideas where I have learned as much from you as I hope you have learned from me. To Dr. Judith Levy, my acupuncturist—thank you for undoing the damage I do to my body in the name of activism and for guiding my body back into balance after weekend flights to DC, sleepless nights planning actions, and living with a mind that doesn’t rest. To all those who responded to my questionnaire and to those who passed it along to others—it was an honor to read your responses and to hear your impressions of feminism today. Thank you for your time and input, and thank you for supporting the book. I have gathered information from many sources throughout my life. I have learned from teachers, activists, advocates, practitioners, and many others who have come into and through my life. My interaction with these people has shaped who I am and what I think, to such an ex- tent that I sometimes question where my ideas and knowledge distin- guish themselves from those that belong to others. A collective con- sciousness has been shared with me, and I now pass it on. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of this process. Preface How I Became a Teenage Activist For the most part, I grew up in the small town of Aromas, California, a largely agricultural area. Early in high school, I was introduced to the United Farm Workers movement and the work of activists like Cesar Chavez and Delores Huerta. In 1987, when I was fourteen, my friends and I joined Chavez’s hunger strike during the grape boycott.1 I had to answer a lot of questions about not eating grapes, particularly after I passed out in the pool during swim practice. But once I learned about the dangers of using pesticides on foods and about the plight of most farm workers, I had to act.2 I believed that if people only knew of the working and living conditions of the people who provide our nation’s food, then something would change. During the time of my hunger strike, I made a grocery trip with my mother. I entered the store and saw grapes in the produce section. I asked to see the managing grocer. I wanted to know where the grapes had come from and to educate the grocer about the plight of the farm workers. It took a bit of persuading, but finally someone came out to speak to me. I told him about the working and living conditions, the pesticides, the harassment, and the discrimination. Quite a crowd of shoppers had formed, unnoticed by me. I vividly remember catching a look in his eyes and realizing that not only was he not interested in what I was saying but he was irritated, and, to my surprise, I realized that I was the source of his irritation. How could he not care? I was in disbe- lief. I was frustrated. I was upset. But, more than anything, I was out- raged. He was saying something, but I could barely make sense of it through my cloud of confusion. He wanted me to leave. I was causing a disturbance. So I did the only thing that I could think of. I grabbed a bunch of grapes and raised them above my head. Shaking them in my xi xii PREFACE fists, and in the deepest, most serious fourteen-year-old voice I could muster, I yelled, “These grapes have blood on them!” I slammed the grapes against the floor. Only then did I notice the crowd. I spun around and marched out of the store. I wasn’t sure where I was headed, but I had to move. A few minutes later, my mom was at my side, saying it would be a long time until we would or could go back to that store. I wasn’t sure if she was speaking in support of me or out of embarrass- ment because of what I had just done. I didn’t care. It wasn’t until just a few years ago that I found out that the grocer had tried to make my mother pay for the grapes. Not only did she re- fuse, but she left her shopping cart in the middle of the produce section and left the store. We never shopped there again. My early stages of activism were so filled with passion and outrage that I was often unsure of what to do with myself. I was angry a lot and embraced the saying “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying atten- tion.” Many people told me that I overwhelmed them, that I turned peo- ple off to what I was saying because I yelled.