| Feminism: My Beginning |
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| Written by Ingrid Fernandez-Casey | ||||||
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At first it was tolerated since if you are reading you are not going around making mischief and your parents don’t have to be constantly after you. Somewhere along the line, though, I was placed in a catechism class and books other than the Holy Scriptures did not go over well with the vicar. My only solace, going away into the land of make-believe fiction, became a threat to my immortal soul and was therefore banned. Well, I am proud to say I won in the end because at some point I made some heretical comment and got kicked out of the class and subsequently the Church community. I probably did not even do it intentionally, but in the process of expressing an idea touched a taboo area. To this day, I don’t even know the reason for my dismissal. But, it was great. I did not get to dress up in the big white dress for communion (as if I cared to practice for the wedding ceremony I so not looked forward to), but could go on reading. I was pretty much excommunicated as most girls in my neighborhood did not want to mix with me after the whole chaotic catechism event. As a result, my love of solitude also began early on. At age 10, my family decided to settle in Miami. Being in the U.S. brought new possibilities but also posed new challenges. The kids at school made fun of me because I didn’t speak English their way. I had learned British English in Spain and asking for a simple “rubber” seemed to be a grand joke to my classmates. This did not deter me. In less than a year I was at the top of my class and making perfect American sentences. I left the turbulence of childhood to find a new problem—the perils of being a woman. I remember I cried like a Magdalene when I first got my period. According to my mom, who had unfortunately never told me about it beforehand, the menstrual cycle was a cleansing function of the body, whereby you expulse rot. When you had it you were disgusting and must do everything in your power to hide it from others. Getting rid of a used maxi pad became worse than disposing of a dead body. Then my breasts started to grow and if men noticed or anyone said something I felt guilty. I hated the darn things. I had been punished by being a woman and did not know why. To top it all, during that time something terrible happened. All I can say is my iron-clad will allowed me to survive it and get on with my life. After this event, I loathed my body and men. Like Lady Macbeth, I prayed everyday to be unsexed. Time, however, heals all wounds. I graduated high school at 15, and escaped all the nonsensical regulations of my family and community. As I left for New York to attend college, the old ideals of “being a woman” stayed grounded in Miami and away from me. Cautiously and with a never-before felt freedom, I embarked on a path to discover true womanhood. I vowed never to get married or have children and invest all my time in my intellectual development. More than anything, being a scholar provided a space for the mind where the body never got in the way. As I bloomed with knowledge, I learned to love my body and its unique processes instead of hiding it or trying to mutilate it. At some point mind and body happily joined and life became easier. I am back in Miami, in good terms with my family, happily married, working and going to school and have found the cause of self-discovery to give my life meaning. What was the end result of all these tidbits of experience? Well, for once, I decided to dedicate my life to the defense and empowerment of women. If I could analyze society’s colossal part in my previous negative conception of womanhood, I could use its own tools to find my real self and denounce the construct I was tricked to believe was reality. For that matter so could other women. I definitely knew Latin culture stigmatizes girls from the onset. I had gone through it and having learned from it, it was time to voice it by means of my expressive female body and mind. I am a feminist. Like the feminists before me, I battle misogynistic monuments of concrete and do not let them anger me or overrun me. There is logic behind the historical repression of women. It is a social weapon to keep a minority from reaching its full potential. Like all repression, its common denominator is fear. Real women, women with bodies and voices, are a threat to the stability of society as silent, corseted Victorian dolls have held their place for centuries and asserted male sexual and social potency. Our fight is not one of anger, for mourning for the past is like crying over spilt milk. We will use logic and the power of signification to weave a better future for this generation and those to come. We as women must find our real selves, discover and accept our bodies and sexuality, setting aside all the stylistic crap and moral taboos placed upon our shoulders by a White male-dominated society. We have found the index of the problem-- the reason for our undermining and self-doubt-- and it is time for us to soar to new heights. Each woman will create, through speech and action, her own unique ideals and language for each woman represents a world of her own. I hope this does not sound like a hopeless tirade, but serves to explain why I choose to pursue the feminist cause. I, like many newly awakened women, continue walking the path to further discover myself and the mysteries of my gender. I believe this class will expose and challenge the dogmatic construct we take for truth—the outdated social apparatus in all its impotence. As a feminist, I believe to have found the tip of the iceberg. It is only the tip, however, and as I dive deeper into it, I am at once curious and empowered by new ideas and philosophies. In this class, I expect to find some of those alternative theories and the women who, through their art and social struggle, have created a world of limitless opportunity for subsequent generations of women to follow.
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| Last Updated ( Friday, 19 May 2006 ) | ||||||
