A week late, but here are my thoughts.
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I was talking to a male friend of mine yesterday when the conversation turned to the feminist event I had attended a day earlier. Turns out he had indeed been aware of the event's existence, but had balked at the idea of coming forward to support our cause. When pressed he explained that his ambivalence was mainly due to the image/tone of the affair, which he perceived as predominantly one of anger. He wasn't sure how he could be a 'positive contribution' if he did choose to be present, he wasn't sure if he would know how to respond. So he decided to stay away.
A word before I move on: this friend of mine is in no way a party of the complacent, insular sort that wreathes his ignorance in self-righteous sanctity. Quite the contrary -he is one that is always receptive and ready to reevaluate his own assumptions. So while I'm glad it wasn't hostility but rather ambivalence that informed his decision, this led me to reflect upon the place of anger in feminist discourse (the event-in-question was appropriately titled for the occasion -All Fired Up! meant to encourage women to speak out on the things that make us angry) -a subject which over the years has been subsumed under the perhaps more familiar and convenient signpost, the "bad rep of feminism".
It's unfortunate how it is still necessary, when talking about the efforts of feminism, to address and deflect the notion (and it is a frame of mind that prevails in no small degree) of feminism as an 'imaginary war'. It is an accusation that is unduly wielded against those who identify with the movement, whether in deliberate or subconscious attempt. The idea that our concerns are somehow misplaced, unnecessary, blown up, and all together unwarranted. That we've got to, first and foremost, convince the world of the reality of our situation. It's a wall of scepticism that every marginalised group in history have come up against. A group of spoken word performers at the event summed it up pretty well: wars are not meant to be started by its prisoners. Most people wouldn't hear us out because the status quo works in their favour, whether they recognise it or not -their experience is largely without amiss. Tripping over this blind spot is hardly ever punishing. The rest of us simply cannot afford the same comfort. We are fighting for self-preservation, period; to preface this fight with apology only devalues it. Anger is our rightful province; it is both the spirit and matter of our toil.
Further: anger is not only a justified emotion, but also a necessary rhetoric. At the heart of the feminist ideology is a project of articulation; anger is no mere accessory to this objective, but its very vehicle. Articulation is born with anger manifest. It is the tipping point of silence; this awakening is our rebirth. Anger is the affirmation of our dignity as we stand as witnesses to our side of truth, on the very side of history where we have hitherto retired our words for fear of shame or self-incrimination. Anger is our calculated revolt. Where society protests uneasiness, ripostes violation, stalls -we rise to rouse, provoke to stir.
How do we, then, negotiate the politics of communication without compromising the integrity of articulation? That is, how do we create open air for dialogue, where nuance is employed not to sanitize, but to facilitate exchange and uphold respect? For the former is as crucial a responsibility of the movement as the latter is fundamental to it; and much too often, the two are played out in a zero-sum game (picture the disinterested public, defensive, in disbelief; picture the mime.) It is with acknowledged naivete that I propose for the voice of hope to occupy this middle ground. Behind the interrogation of anger is a sense of what should and could be. Hope celebrates progress that has been made and that is being made, and honors the labor that has gone into this making. It animates the vision of an egalitarian future with a modest view of the challenges and obligations that lie yet ahead. Hope affirms commitment. All Fired Up! meant not just for the gathered to share what made us angry, but also what gave us hope. The graffiti wall, with its double faces representing anger and hope, stood in full-blooded glory, as did all of us, as we locked arms for the candlelight vigil at sunset. My friend would have been a welcome addition, if not a positive contribution, to this assembly of the passionately angry and the ardently hopeful.
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Here's to a great year ahead for feminism.
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