PLENTY OF FEMINIST WRITING is churned out by people actively engaged in an area of expertise/field of work. As a therapist, educator and social worker, I have always had plenty to say, a stand to take and debates to relish. (Note: I am NOT saying working folks are the only ones with opinions of value!) But for the past 6 months, I was none of these. I wasn’t even (hushed whisper) a working woman. I was, to put it plainly, a hausfrau, and this is an account of my experience.
It happened the usual way. Marriage, partner’s transfer and move abroad. We were going to live in the United States, a country I was very familiar with, had lived in before and was acclimatized to. I knew it was only a matter of time before I re-entered the workforce. Having worked non-stop—often two jobs/businesses simultaneously—for the past decade, I was suddenly faced with swathes of time and the freedom to stare into space if I so chose. As a part of me watched from the sidelines, the job-juggling girl I once knew threw herself headlong into home decoration, baking and the maintenance of an immaculate home.
I will come right out and say it. I loved every minute. No miserable Mondays, time to explore my nesting side and the incredible luxury of fussing over cushions and bed linen just because I could. From whipping up batches of brownies to color-coordinating the tableware, running errands at a leisurely pace and greeting my spouse with an elaborate, freshly-cooked meal each evening, I did all the things women have sought to break free from in decades past. And yet, there I was, a self-confessed feminist, trying to shush her cognitive dissonance by convincing herself it was all a temporary romp in the park.
The first signs of discomfort arose when I had to fill in forms asking me what I did for a living. Homemaker, I’d write, a trifle defiantly, not too pleased with my answer. I was the flexi-time lady, the on-call chauffeur, the go-shopping-at-a-whim buddy, the One Who Did Nothing. And yet I know full well, from my own experience and that of the women in my family, the solid work it takes to run a well-maintained, smoothly-functioning home. Upkeep is akin to a garden—unless you’re constantly weeding, it’s going to overwhelm you. Then what was it, that feeling, the twinge I felt spending money not earned by me, the knowledge that I could enjoy this freedom because my partner worked to put bread on the table?
I put it down to upbringing, role models and childhood narratives. To years of seeing a working mother and grandmother, of being goaded toward financial independence by my stay-at-home grandmother, of growing up hearing that marriage could wait, I needed to carve out a career first, of being firmly told that “sitting home” was not why I was educated and that with my two Master’s degrees I should jolly well step out and make myself useful to the world.
Should I be hating this, would it be terrible if this state of affairs were to go on forever, I’d ask myself, a trifle alarmed at how much I was enjoying the change of pace. I felt no boredom, I always had tasks to accomplish, and nothing gave me greater pleasure than snatching some hours of reading time on the couch, with nowhere to go unless I wanted to. Perhaps I reveled in it because I knew it was a temporary situation. It is unthinkable to me that I remain unemployed, even as I acknowledge that there is absolutely nothing “wrong” with the idea. I have always respected the work of homemakers, now even more so. But clearly some part of me still believes that those working outside the home are worthier.
So as I get back to work next week and my cognitive dissonance fades away, to be replaced with Monday morning blues, rush hour traffic and a less-than-tidy home, I hope I can hunker down and stare my biases in the face, so the next time I switch roles, I am freer of labels and sexist baggage and can embrace another aspect of myself more willingly.
Half-year of the hausfrau
PLENTY OF FEMINIST WRITING is churned out by people actively engaged in an area of expertise/field of work. As a therapist, educator and social worker, I have always had plenty to say, a stand to take and debates to relish. (Note: I am NOT saying working folks are the only ones with opinions of value!) But for the past 6 months, I was none of these. I wasn’t even (hushed whisper) a working woman. I was, to put it plainly, a hausfrau, and this is an account of my experience.
It happened the usual way. Marriage, partner’s transfer and move abroad. We were going to live in the United States, a country I was very familiar with, had lived in before and was acclimatized to. I knew it was only a matter of time before I re-entered the workforce. Having worked non-stop—often two jobs/businesses simultaneously—for the past decade, I was suddenly faced with swathes of time and the freedom to stare into space if I so chose. As a part of me watched from the sidelines, the job-juggling girl I once knew threw herself headlong into home decoration, baking and the maintenance of an immaculate home.
I will come right out and say it. I loved every minute. No miserable Mondays, time to explore my nesting side and the incredible luxury of fussing over cushions and bed linen just because I could. From whipping up batches of brownies to color-coordinating the tableware, running errands at a leisurely pace and greeting my spouse with an elaborate, freshly-cooked meal each evening, I did all the things women have sought to break free from in decades past. And yet, there I was, a self-confessed feminist, trying to shush her cognitive dissonance by convincing herself it was all a temporary romp in the park.
The first signs of discomfort arose when I had to fill in forms asking me what I did for a living. Homemaker, I’d write, a trifle defiantly, not too pleased with my answer. I was the flexi-time lady, the on-call chauffeur, the go-shopping-at-a-whim buddy, the One Who Did Nothing. And yet I know full well, from my own experience and that of the women in my family, the solid work it takes to run a well-maintained, smoothly-functioning home. Upkeep is akin to a garden—unless you’re constantly weeding, it’s going to overwhelm you. Then what was it, that feeling, the twinge I felt spending money not earned by me, the knowledge that I could enjoy this freedom because my partner worked to put bread on the table?
I put it down to upbringing, role models and childhood narratives. To years of seeing a working mother and grandmother, of being goaded toward financial independence by my stay-at-home grandmother, of growing up hearing that marriage could wait, I needed to carve out a career first, of being firmly told that “sitting home” was not why I was educated and that with my two Master’s degrees I should jolly well step out and make myself useful to the world.
Should I be hating this, would it be terrible if this state of affairs were to go on forever, I’d ask myself, a trifle alarmed at how much I was enjoying the change of pace. I felt no boredom, I always had tasks to accomplish, and nothing gave me greater pleasure than snatching some hours of reading time on the couch, with nowhere to go unless I wanted to. Perhaps I reveled in it because I knew it was a temporary situation. It is unthinkable to me that I remain unemployed, even as I acknowledge that there is absolutely nothing “wrong” with the idea. I have always respected the work of homemakers, now even more so. But clearly some part of me still believes that those working outside the home are worthier.
So as I get back to work next week and my cognitive dissonance fades away, to be replaced with Monday morning blues, rush hour traffic and a less-than-tidy home, I hope I can hunker down and stare my biases in the face, so the next time I switch roles, I am freer of labels and sexist baggage and can embrace another aspect of myself more willingly.
Dominique Strauss-Kahn and the politics of rape
A FEW MONTHS AGO, I was outraged by the French reaction to the Roman Polanski case. I am similarly outraged with the French reaction to Dominique Strauss-Kahn or DSK. Dominique Strauss-Kahn, head of the powerful International Monetary Fund, is accused of sexually assaulting a housekeeping staff in the posh Sofitel hotel in Manhattan. The charges against DSK are extremely serious and if convicted he could face up to 25 years in prison. He has maintained his innocence and a recent poll indicates that 57% of the French public believe he has been framed. What further complicates this story is the fact that a few months ago DSK allegedly claimed that since he is running for French presidency, there will be attempts to discredit him. More specifically, he claimed that anyone could be paid 500,000 Euros to falsely accuse him of rape in a parking lot. He also said the fact that he is Jewish might work against him, against the backdrop of covert and sometimes overt anti-Semitism in Europe.
Without getting into the finer details of the case, newspaper reports seem to suggest that the victim is of West African origin, probably from Guinea, who was forced to flee her country under difficult circumstances. She is a single mother of a 15-year-old girl and had been working in Sofitel for the past two years. She was attacked by DSK when she went to clean his room on Saturday. She tried to fight him and run away but was dragged back from the hallway, held back against her will and assaulted multiple times. She called her brother up within an hour of being attacked who advised her to report it to the police. The New York Special Victims Unit, famous for handling sex crimes apprehended DSK on a flight to Germany. DSK was refused bail because the judge decided that he presented a significant flight risk and has been remanded to custody.
The IMF meanwhile has continued with its work including funding the bail-outs of Portugal and Greece. It should be noted that there has been no pressure from within IMF on DSK (yet) to resign from his position as the chief. His deputy has stepped in for him and the organization seems to be behaving as if it is business as usual. The day after the newspapers reported his alleged crime, a young French journalist came forward saying that he had similarly tried to rape her in 2007 but she was dissuaded from reporting this by her mother, a prominent French politician of the same party as DSK. Psychologists agree that men who engage in sexually predatory behaviour are unlikely to stop with a single victim. Also given DSK’s age (he is 62) it is highly unlikely that if indeed he is guilty, this is his first crime. Sexual harassment and rape is highly under-reported in the west; for eg in the UK, only 7% of rape cases are convicted.
I can’t help but think that this case perfectly symbolises Europe and by extension IMF’s relationship with the developing countries given that the alleged perpetrator of this crime is firstly, the head of a very powerful financial organization, a European politician/economist/intellectual, while the victim is a woman, of African origin, a single mother and a working class person. The accused is a very powerful man, not just because he is the head of the IMF but because he is highly regarded in his own country, to the extent that he planned to contest for the French Presidency next year. The only person who matters in France who has taken a stand against DSK is the leader of the far-right party, National Front Marine Le Pen. However she is a woman who is known for her extreme French nationalism, opposition to the veil and anti-immigrant and anti-immigration sentiments.
The heady mix of domestic politics, the sexual nature of the crime and DSK’s reputation as a ‘serial seducer’ in France and the flexibility of French morals when it comes to crimes committed by ‘intellectuals’ will make it difficult for the victim to get justice. In France, DSK is being seen as a victim of the punitive and piratical American justice system and I am confident that his lawyers will leave no stone unturned to establish that the act was consensual or in failing that, tarnish the victim’s reputation to bias the jury. Should DSK be treated any worse or better because of his position? I think not. If his crime were to be proved, he should receive the same treatment as any other rapist. Will this happen? Only time can tell. Coming of age
I WAS SEVEN when my mother enrolled me in a karate class. There were 50 boys and I was to be the only girl. When I complained that girls didn’t do karate, she said there was no activity or job meant solely for boys -- or for girls. I went on to become a lover of not just martial arts but also of gender equality.
Of course, as the only child in an upper middle class, educated family, I never confronted the larger problems of discrimination faced by many others. The ones I did see troubled me tremendously. I did not identify as a feminist until I turned 16 but long before that, I was quick to point out (loudly and vociferously) any sexist difference or discrimination that I perceived. I also rejected everything that was ‘feminine’, considering it something imposed by society. I hated needlework classes, preferred the games lesson instead. I didn't just pretend to enjoy the ‘masculine’ activities; I actually liked them but there definitely was a desire to not get involved with ‘the other girls’. I rarely wore skirts or dresses and while my peers were trying on make-up for the first time, I was falling off my bicycle or skates.
At family gatherings, I wandered away from the women, disliked their conversation and the work they always seemed to have to do. Household work remained the domain of the women no matter how educated they were. The men, in their free time, preferred to watch television or discuss politics. Every time I tried to bring this up with family members or friends, I was given an example of a man who could... ‘Cook a full meal! And he LIKES doing it!’ or ‘He helps his wife clean the house!’ (Gasp). When I pointed out that the men did not do this on a regular basis or that the fact that it was considered a huge achievement was an example of the additional burden placed on women, I was dismissed as "over smart".
When I finished 12th standard, I chose law over humanities. Partly, I may have taken this decision because of the traditional association of humanities with women (something which I may always be ashamed of). I preferred the more ‘masculine’ forms of education, of entertainment, and clothing. I laughed at the girls who liked doing ‘silly’ things. I shunned the kitchen and my distaste for cooking only grew when my mother sighed and loudly wondered, ‘What will her in-laws say?’ or ‘How will she ever manage a household?’
At some point, things started changing. I tried my hand at some basic household work. I entered the kitchen and dabbled around. To my great surprise, my experiments turned out rather well. I picked up some recipes from my grandmother and went online in search of more recipes. To my greater surprise – not only did these turn out well, I actually enjoyed cooking. Now, as I grow older, I realise how severely I had limited myself. Just because society has traditionally decided that some activities are a woman’s duties or she is ‘supposed’ to like them, does not mean I have to reject them completely. I have to give myself the freedom to see what is there, and choose. So if I want to go watch a romantic comedy in a pretty dress, cry at the mushy parts, go home and cook dinner for myself and my partner, I should be able to do this without guilt or self-disdain.
And if I want to wear shorts, go for a karate class and follow it up with a few drinks, I can do that too. I can enjoy them both.
Why is it that when women are involved in activities usually done by men, they are praised and feted while when men do what women are supposed to do, they are scorned, mocked, or derided? The girl doing physics or engineering is lauded while the boy who has taken up arts is usually considered weak at studies. The girl who enjoys sports is applauded and the boy who takes care of his appearance is laughed at.
There is nothing ‘less’ about the traditionally feminine domains of work, education, employment or recreation. That’s what feminism lets me do -- embrace all aspects of life and enjoy the full range of human experience without having to limit myself to one or the other.
Yes, there will always be the issue of false consciousness. Am I doing this because I am expected to do it? Do I like high heels despite the problems associated with them because I’ve been told that heels will make me look beautiful or sexy? Do I cook more than the men because I’m supposed to do it? When I change my name, make my career secondary to my husband’s, take a few years off from work because of the children, and do the lions share in housework and child rearing -- is it truly my choice?
I don’t know why so many women make these choices. I don’t know what I am going to do in the future. But while I figure it out, I will coo over babies, go camping, throw a mean punch, and cry at movies. In short, I will do what I feel like doing. 