1989 Was A Good Year

Music is the easiest and safest outlet most of us have for validating the intense feelings we’re not able to hold on our own. The knowing that someone else in the world is teetering between imploding and exploding can bring to light that sense of belonging. If it weren’t for the poets and musicians who justify our deepest fears, joys and longings, we would have no mirror.

As a self-proclaimed lyric junkie, the most meaningful element of a song is the story. The cherry on top is the accompanied melodies -- the ‘second voice’ as I like to call it, to which the feelings are safely attached.

There’s an intense bond that forms with an artist the moment you hear them take the words right out of your mouth.

Music. Today...

Bold beats, hooks, and production value are the virtues in our current musical landscape with most people in these digital days barely able to tell what is being articulated in a song. There's no longer a vinyl LP jacket in their hands as a point of reference. Words are indeed a dying art.

Yet I’m still a contemporary woman with contemporary taste - I’m an enthusiast of pop from every decade, however I’m remarkably drawn to the haunting and heavy.

...The Ryan Adams

In terms of dark and broody, my most-relatable music from a human man is Ryan Adams.

Ryan Adams is an American singer-songwriter musician/poet who falls in the alt-country genre with over 20 years of musicality under his cat-emblemed belt.

Like me, Ryan’s a joyful loner, with childhood wounds that run deep, who’s comfortable with vulnerability, and unpredictable with love choices. Unlike me, he’s actually a pretty decent musician; his lyrics are simple but unstructured, he’s a rock god on his Gibson ES-335, and his voice quality, though subjective, has incredible control and capabilities of a sweet falsetto tone. He’s collaborated with Elton John, Willie Nelson, Johnny Depp, and his cover of Wonderwall is so good that even Noel Gallagher said Adams “is the only person who ever got that song right.”

When Ryan announced on Twitter in the summer of 2015 that he was covering Taylor Swift’s entire “1989” album the world of Rock and Roll purists scratched their heads in disbelief.

Taylor Swift? C'mon.

The juxtaposition to Swift is in itself a clever marketing tactic. She is America’s People-Pleasing Feminist Pop Princess who sells out 75,000 seat stadiums and who is often persecuted, misunderstood and maligned for singing songs about past lovers. But that’s ridiculous and unfair -- all great songwriters write about their torrid love affairs. And she's got strong country roots. My guess is Ryan caught on immediately to the sadness and raw wounds that lay underneath all that pop synth of '1989' and was dying to poke at it.

Her sound may say “John Hughes”, but her stories scream “Shakespeare”.

At that point in time I wouldn’t call myself a fan of Taylor’s; her radio hits Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space, and Shake it Off are fun to sing in the car with your kids but have little substance, though I could appreciate their verse-chorus structures.

But then the funkalicious guitar on the sexy and sultry Style twisted the knife in me a little because the parallels with my own ‘James Dean’ were too stark. I knew all about a love-lust that kept coming back to life and couldn't be shaken off no matter how hard I tried.

But tbh- Style is just a really awesome pop song.

'1989'

Regardless of whether it’s Ryan or Taylor singing the sonic 80’s songs on this album its theme is crystal clear with each track pulling the narrative in sequenced order.

The whole album documents a romance of impending doom and disillusionment. It’s a cat-and-mouse, back-and-forth kind of love. It’s a love that doesn’t follow logic, hearts and bodies fuelled by passion and led by pure emotion. Love that may just be about proving your self-worth. Lovers who are incompatible as partners perhaps, but with undeniable chemistry. Lovers who never uttered the words “I love you”, even though they did and probably always will.

It captures the utter grief and disempowerment when loves leaves. The agony of letting go of a love that is both good and bad but was never meant to last forever. It’s sealed with an internal declaration that you will never forget them as long as you live.

Most of us have been there - when you're submerged in it, it can feel like the juice of life.

She vs. He

I listened to the small samples of Ryan’s 1989 and fell in love at first sound. And when I love something or someone, I go deep, reeling on cult-fandom and obsession. Within days I knew every word and every whisper. I was stunned that the Smiths-esque songs were written by Taylor when they sounded so Ryan.

I was dying to listen to the album Taylor had already released almost a year ago. I purchased Taylor’s and my initial criticism was this:

If Taylor Swift is so earnest, why does '1989' sound so fake?

Thank fuck for Ryan who injected authenticity to Taylor’s overproduction and wailing screeching, I thought. She brings the loud, big and bright while he brings the substance. 

Initially I supported Ryan’s “mansplaining” of Taylor’s romantic plights. 

Upon further investigation and listening to both albums on repeat for months, I found myself in a love-triangle with both artists.  I have since retracted the negative criticism towards Tay-Tay.

I have listened to each song at least one hundred times, I know every single syllable, and I love them as if they were my babies.

Taylor is my baby girl - in '1989' making references to her lipstick, her dresses, her gender role. Ryan is my baby boy who honours the femme, doesn’t change all the pronouns and smashes heteronormativity.

But let’s get this straight -- Ryan didn’t do ‘1989’ better, he simply turned her gems into ornate jewellery.


Time to give credit where credit is due: These are Taylor’s stories, the words coming from her heart, the melodies -- her guitar, her piano. There is depth and capability as an artist. If it wasn’t for Taylor there would be no ‘1989’, an album that I can shamelessly admit is my favourite album of 2015 for moving the lovelorn foot-shuffler in me who also wants to get down to those sick beats.


And just why do we feel compelled to write the words we do?


We write to give emotions the movement they need ("e-motion") in order to transform and to not be consumed by them.
We write to heal, to put our emotions somewhere appropriate.
We write to share our stories as a way of finding intimacy with the rest of humanity.

And we write to send messages to our lovers, of course. Even if they are not listening.

***

Scoring the songs of 1989 (out of 10)

Welcome To New York

She arrives single, fresh-faced and hopeful (imagine slouchy socks and shoulder pads) and everything she could ever want is waiting for her. She’s looking to find her musical sound but she’s going to stumble upon love along the way. Co-written by OneRepublic Ryan Tedder. The lyrics are overly simplified and so is the 80’s synthesizer. (5)

The song opens to the sounds of Jersey shore seagulls. He takes the track, throws on some blue jeans, a bandana and a white t-shirt and gives it a macho mid-tempo rock ‘n roll sound like a Boss. 

“Like any true love it drives you crazy but you wouldn’t change anything, anything, anything!” (6)

Blank Space

Her tongue-and-cheek response to the media’s perception on being a serial dater. This is not Taylor’s actual approach to relationships, it’s satirical. I’m not a big fan of this song but am a fan of the clean tones in her voice. (5)

He turns this into a ballad and goes for the literal narrative. He's looking for a heart to break so he can punish himself by being deeply regretful for his actions. His trembling voice is beautiful. (4)

Style

My favourite song intro on this album. This song is pop perfection. Despite how vulnerable and pouty she feels around the man who makes her feel un-done, I sense sex-positive undertones and equality in this relationship. The night setting is clear and she’s got him right where she wants him. So does he. Ah, young love. 

“He says what you heard is true but I can’t stop thinking about you and I.”(9)

Ryan does this song with pure earnest rock ‘n roll. He displays his committed passion like a peacock. He knows exactly what kind of girl he wants and he's out of breath articulating who she is. He channels Springsteen again, and you really believe he’s going to get everything he wants tonight. (8)

Out Of The Woods

I can’t decide what I love most about this song - the big and bright 80’s sound? The lyrics? The choices? I really like what she did with this catch-phrase as she laments on her dysfunctional relationship: “Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet? Good!”. This is a super fun song to sing at the top of your lungs while gasping for air. (8)

He turns this song into a pleading lullaby that tells the story so clearly of two lovers whose love is always at threat. A perfect teetering-on-break-up ballad. When Ryan sings like he means it, he spits. And you can hear it. Instruments are added at every verse and at every chorus until there is a crescendo of crashing guitars and violins. Then he adds 16 extra bars at the end for you to get some tissue and wipe away the tears. 
“The rest of the world was black and white and we were in screaming colour.” (9)

All You Had To Do Was Stay

Taylor’s take is a bubble gum Kiss-off. The squealing “Stay!” came to her in a dream apparently and personally, I love it. 

“People like you always want back the love they pushed aside. People like me are gone forever when you say good-bye.” (8)

Ryan’s take is a rock 'n roll yearning, as if he’s educating his lover. And there's regret in his voice and a warning that they're both going to be sorry. This is one of my top faves from both artists on this album simply because I feel like the words were taken right out of my mouth. (8)




Shake It Off

Another satirical jam a la “Hey Mickey”. The popularity and radio killed this one for me. Cannot even comment objectively. I loathe this song like an ex-lover I can't even bear to run into at the grocery store. (2)

He does this song in the style of Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire”. It’s a hit. He sings like he’s driving an old cadillac in the dead of night on deserted dead-end streets, burning out/coming down and like he may just drive off the Jersey turnpike. Ironically, Ryan brought this song back from the dead for me. (7)

I Wish You Would

She’s lost her love and there’s urgency, mad regret and back-peddling. Another car-themed song with clean simple lyrics that can still break your heart.

“We’re a crooked love in a straight line down.” (8)

Ryan does his signature alt-country-spit-lyrics and laments regret and sorrow, as if sitting with his buddy Tom Waits, whimpering into his drink at last call.

“I miss you too much to be mad anymore.” (8)

Bad Blood

This is just too juvenile of a song (even) for me. I don’t hate it, but it’s another over-commercialized song killed by radio and gloss. (4)

Ryan turns this into a mid-tempo middle-of-the-road country jam. He doesn’t make it great, but how can he when the lyrics are so basic?

“You say sorry just for show. If you live like that you live with ghosts.” (6)

Wildest Dreams

Personally, I find her weakest songs on this album are released as singles. The narrative of this song follows the post-break up of the estranged lovers. The memories are painful, the flashbacks of their sexual escapades are haunting, and the lingering question remains unanswered: "Was I special? Did I matter to you?" (7)

This song is pretty safe and vanilla but he extracts the juice Taylor set him up with. In both versions the instruments and melodies trump the lyrics. (6)

How You Get The Girl

Another bubble-gum pop love song done perfectly. The lovers get back together! And Swift tells exactly the magic formula required to make it happen. A Love-Conquers-All anthem set to high-production value and guitar-picking. (8)

A dragging your feet, kicking leaves, hands in pockets country ballad with the odd booming drum in all the right places. What Ryan does well is he finds the line Taylor shouts and then in his version, highlights it by repetitions or drawing out the vowels like Shakespeare's female protagonists: “You could know that I don’t want to let you go.” (9)

This Love

The only song on the album completely composed by Taylor. This song captures the bliss when the one you set free comes back. It’s a love song I’m sure touches every teenage girl, yet satisfies that fourteen year old in all of us grown women because alas, she’s still there. Though her vocal chops are nowhere near in Adele’s league, the sentiment is just as strong as Adele’s heart-twisting ballads, though Adele’s lyrics are always problematically literal. Like any savvy lyricist Taylor’s good at using the abstract as to make it accessible for everyone. Taylor uses a continuation of metaphors throughout this album and the way she sets up the false calm after the storm I know this is NOT going to end on a high note.

“This love has left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark.” (10)

He stripped down her beautiful ballad to falsetto whispering vocals and piano. I bet money this is Ryan’s favourite song on the album. Not gonna lie, this version has made me cry more times than it has not.

“I fell to my knees. When you’re young you run ---” (10)

I Know Places

Here’s the story of lovers on the run who will stop at nothing to live out their outlawed passion. The world is full of vultures, hunters and chasers and fuck ‘em - they’ll never find us. Here’s bubble-gum-pop’s version of Springsteen’s Born to Run. Now calm down, this is actually a fair comparison and she's earned it. (7)

Rugged. Love it. Took a great song and made it great with just the right amount of electric guitar. (8)

Clean

She takes the blooming symbols from “This Love” and drowns them. Taylor’s heavy breathing and sad child-like articulation of every word against the vibraphone shows the raw angst of the break-up as if it has just happened. The theme of this song is cleansing yourself from your addiction, step-by-step. You’ve realized that it’s not the lover you are addicted to -- it’s the high. 
“Ten months sober I must admit, just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it.” (10)

Ryan sings like he’s got some distance - like he’s telling the story from 10 months down the road. Gather round now kids, let me tell you about the time I nearly died from heart break and had to check myself into rehab.

“Now that I’m clean I’m never gonna risk it” (9)

Apples and Oranges

You walk into a grocery store that appears to be selling only apples and oranges. The shopkeeper is beautiful and charming and proudly shows you their collection of apples and oranges which appear delicious if you like apples and oranges - which you do. And they certainly know their apples and oranges. 

The two of you bond over your mutual love for apples and oranges, and you roll them around in your hands as you gaze into each other’s eyes. When they offer you samples from the fresh shipment they’ve brought in, you bite, wide-mouthed and eyes closed as the juice trickles down your chin. They tell you that no one has ever come into their store the way you have and appreciated apples and oranges like you do. You can barely remember that you had ever set out that first morning looking to buy some grapes. 

But when the time is right, you gently ask them if they have any grapes. They say no, there aren’t any grapes. There are apples and oranges because that is all that they can manage and the shape and size just works for them. Then they open up slightly by sharing some key information: Long ago they used to have grapes for some other customer, and that customer loved those grapes. They were the best. And they were so happy selling grapes to that customer whenever that customer wanted them. It was wonderful. And then one day that customer decided they didn’t like grapes anymore so that customer stomped all over the grapes, squishing them and their delicate skin all over the floor. And fled out the door to another shopkeeper who was selling figs across the road. 

Their heart was broken. So that’s why they no longer sell grapes — they can’t bear to. It hurts too much. And so, for you, just apples and oranges, alright? They tell you maybe there will be grapes on the shelves one day. They may get some in. In fact, maybe tomorrow, if you come back. 

So you keep coming back day after day, week after week, year after year, and they keep describing the grapes they don’t have, and still they give you apples and oranges which are looking more hard-skinned, cold, and tasteless by the day. Still, you’d really like to someday see these grapes they keep promising to bring in. You are grateful for your apples and oranges but deep inside -- you crave grapes, so much so that the cravings wake you up in the middle of the night. You see people all around you stuffing their mouths with grapes. When your friends invite you to their homes, you eye the grapes in their fruit bowls and wonder which market they had found them. You know that grapes can do powerful things beyond just being tasty -- they can be turned into wine! You go back to the shop and do everything including cartwheels to try to get them to order in some grapes. They say that you deserve the finest grapes, and actually they are surprised a person like you hasn’t found grapes by now. But they’re glad you haven’t - because they were thinking about grapes just the other day and how they might get some for you... tomorrow.

Tomorrow you arrive to find their shop is closed. Just as they are turning the keys to lock the door for the last time, they tell you they are off to buy a vineyard with someone else. No hard feelings, eh?

They’re not rejecting YOU, can’t you see?

It is you, after all, who cannot sustain yourself on just apples and oranges and they know nothing else -- have nothing else to give but apples and oranges.

But what about the grapes they were planning on bringing in?

All lies.

They never had any desire for grapes and it was all a story just to keep you interested and to see what you would do to remain a loyal customer. The story of the grape-loving heart-breaking customer was a fabrication, or a combination of a few former customers who got tired of those apples and oranges and walked away. And no, they’re not off to be the owner of a fancy new vineyard. How can they be, when they’ve never even liked or been interested in grapes ever in their life? There is no vineyard. They’re just setting up shop somewhere else to sell -- you guessed it… more apples and oranges.

And you? You go home and plant a small grapevine in your backyard, allowing the grapes that will soon grow to be a complete surprise.

Untouchable Face

The blonde chick on the stoop drags on her cigarette and nods towards the over-sized orange tour bus parked on Queen street West.

“Who’s playing tonight?” she quips and lights the cigarette of the wrinkled, disheveled gray-haired man who’s leaning against her shoulder. It's a warm September evening and she’s wearing her pj’s and his tattered shopping bags are next to his feet.

“Ani Difranco” I reply. Her eyes bug out and she repeats the name but pronounces it “Annie”.

“Holy. Fuck. Untouchable Face is the best breakup song of all time” she claims.

“Oh, I know Ani Difranco” the old man chimes in. “But she’s not really my taste. But that’s because I’m into hardcore death metal”.

I enter the concert venue and settle in the empty balcony because the plus-thirty crowd have taken up the folding chairs on the main floor. A guy called Scarekrow is the opening act and he’s a rocking old geezer with Neil Young, Pete Seeger and Tom Waits traits. He’s replacing Garnet Rogers who at the last minute got hit by a car. He’s alright, but apparently he broke something.

A father and son shift in and sit one row below me with a buffer seat in between them. The son folds his arms across his chest and looks bored, his floppy brown hair falls in his eyes. The father doesn’t even bother trying to get him to give a shit. I assume this is his cruel and unusual punishment for some petty teenage crime.

Ani finally saunters on stage, her D-tuned guitar is hugged close to her body, she’s wearing a classic white tight tank top, khaki pants with pockets all over the legs and a thick belt. The mature crowd goes wild; including the teenage boy’s father, the straight and queer gentlefolk on the folding chairs, and the married couples gripping hands with nostalgia for the 90’s.

The teenage boy puts his head in his hands. His groans are muffled by Ani’s guitar.

She opens with Napoleon (from the 1996 album Dilate); her mission statement-fueled rock anthem about navigating between being heard as an artist and selling out. The lyrics are a call-out to a female contemporary (rumoured to be Suzanne Vega) who signed decorative and deceiving music deals that she, herself turned down.

Ani flubs the lyrics leading up to the chorus and starts the verse again.

“Agh….Welcome to the Ani Difranco Show” she laughs into the microphone.

Ani has a reputation for being “angry” - a basic way of summing up a person’s right to express themselves through art during a time when they feel threatened, attacked, mistreated or disappointed. But sigh, Ani is and has always been so misunderstood.

Ani is at the core a brilliant poet: Her lyrics often include alliterations, metaphors, and symbols that are gentle and provocative. Her writing is revered and praised for its sophistication, which doesn’t even put her in the same league as her contemporaries; Suzanne Vega, Indigo Girls and Jewel. She’s of Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen caliber.

She transitions nicely into Angry Anymore (Up Up Up Up Up Up, 1999). A song that expresses a new-found empathy for her parents and past lovers. If Ani had been performing with her band, there would have been a banjo, harmonica, saxophone, piano, clarinet, stand-up bass, accordion, drums, cello, distorted electric guitars and Ani would have played the water cooler. DiFranco's guitar playing has a signature staccato style, quick and agile fingerpicking and many unique guitar tunings. She has a powerful set of pipes, and many of her lines are delivered with vibrato and angst.

Her prose can be vulgar at times which has taught me well: she talks about fucking and pissing and spitting and blood and broken bones. She also write about abortions, rape, violence, patriarchy, crime, gender inequality, racism, classism, consumerism, poverty, sexuality, cruelty, environmental pollution, depression, grief and isolation.

She switches guitars, tuned up most-likely to DADF#GD because her sound has changed. She plays a handful of songs off her new album Allergic to Water (2014): the title track, a poem, a song about her daughter, a ditty about the depressive state of TV and grocery aisles, Careless Words, and then Genie, a folk song which could be the theme tune to my very own sitcom. She’s been retreating from politics and instead focuses on long-term relationships, motherhood, and spirituality. Topics I grasp well -- yet, I’ve never felt more disconnected to her new music. Sadly, it used to be that 10 out of 12 songs on every album were solid gold; now I’m lucky if I can appreciate two.

She admits that people say “Put the down-trodden Ani back in the bag and bring back that bitch with all the rage.”

But Ani doesn’t give a fuck what you or I think. She’s the high priestess of feminist folk and she’s making the kind of music that suits her now. She laments political with the wisdom of a mama, no longer with the rebellion of youth. So I gotta let her grow.

Ani starts taking requests from the audience:

“I’m No Heroine!” some guy shouts
“Back Back Back!” a young woman screams
“Independence Day!”, “Pick Yer Nose!”, “Letter to a John!”, “Outta Range!”, “Dilate!”
“Grey!” I yell from the balcony. The teenage boy gives me side-eye and shrugs his shoulders to his ears.

She deflects them all, giggling:
“Oh good one!”
“Wow, must re-learn that one”
“Haven’t played that one for ages”

So instead she picks up her guitar and belts out Two Little Girls (Little Plastic Castle, 1998). It’s a ditty about being in love with a girl who is in love with another girl who is no damn good. Ani laments: “Love is a piano dropped from a four-story window and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time”. 

Ani identifies as bisexual. As a feminist, and as a queer performing music in America Ani has spent the majority of her career (which began when she was 18) fighting off harsh criticism, death threats, unjust labels, and basically being told to shut the fuck up. The reaction to her opinions particularly from men, (considering people like Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan were protest singers too), exemplifies the inequality of genders in the music industry. Those death threats most likely just proved Ani’s point, and so she kept fighting.

Ani tells us she’s soon to be "best man" at a gay wedding and so she visited the Eaton Centre looking for a nice suit. The audience jokingly shames her on her choice of shopping venue. Even from up on the balcony I could see she’s embarrassed. Or perhaps annoyed.

The teenage boy perks up and grins.

“Sheesh. Well go ahead and put it on the Internet that I shop at the fucking Eaton Centre” she teases and tells us it’s time to get fucking serious. It’s time for To the Teeth (To the Teeth, 1999).

It’s a post-Columbine Shooting anti-gun, anti-Republican ballad, one I puzzled over line-by-line as a teenager, working out the metaphors in the verses only to be told the moral message at the end of the song: And if I hear one more time about a fool’s right to his tools of rage, I’m gonna take all my friends and we’re gonna move to Canada, and we’re gonna die of old age.

She’s got us right where she wants us now and so she tells us about “Spoons”.

Stanley “Spoons” Jackson is a California man, from the city of Barstow, serving life without parole for a murder conviction in the late 1970s. He was jailed at 19 and has since become an award-winning poet and playwright in prison. He’s part of the album that Canadian Zoe Boekbinder and Ani Difranco are making from songs from inmates: a mix of folk, rock, blues, and hip hop. So Ani sings one of Spoon’s memoirs that she’s turned into a song: Nowhere But Barstow and Prison plus a few other others.

Ani’s point of view is clear: America is the #1 incarcerated country in the world and the human beings who are locked up behind these bars are experiencing more torture than the crimes they were convicted of. Every beaten down woman and every broken down man deserves mercy. We all suffer at the hands of institutional disease.

Ani rounds out her concert with a string of crowd-pleasing classics: You Had Time (Out of Range, 1994) an epic ballad about the lover who waits for her while she’s on the road. Her next ballad Everest (Up Up Up Up Up Up, 1999) is a slow and beautiful love story with subtle hints of an interracial relationship. She was white, he was black, he showed her his life and she showed him hers, while everybody stared.

At a Prince concert recently (he sang backup on her track Providence) she tells us she danced the night away.

She invites us to get off our balconies and folding chairs and do the same.

The end is clearly drawing near and if Ani tells me to get closer to her, dammit I will get closer than anyone. I ditch my spot near the teenage boy and his dad and flee down the steps towards the stage. 

The crowd is a mass of old, accommodating, well-behaved white people. One guy makes way for me to get closer to the stage. When I reach the stage a young lady moves her bag so I can stand next to her. And there she is. Ani Difranco, one meter away from me. I can see every line on her face and what color of laces she’s got on her shoes. In the 15 times I have seen her perform I have never been this close. I sway and scream and take shitty photos with my phone.

She’s playing her trademark rock-out song: Shameless (Dilate,1996) an angst rant about refusing to stop fucking her married female lover and they're about to be caught. She moves on to my favourite breakup song: Gravel (Little Plastic Castle, 1998) a man comes back to apologize, and she's torn. She's angry as hell at what he's put her through - but she adores him.

Ani ends with a bang and thanks the crowd. She exits but our claps, screams and palm-banging on the stage bring her back. She gracefully returns and breaks out into Untouchable Face (Dilate, 1996), the crowd shouts along to the chorus:

Fuck you, and your untouchable face
and Fuck you, for existing in the first place.

I remember the blonde on the steps who didn’t say Ani’s name right who has it all wrong. Untouchable Face isn’t about breaking up; it’s about the pain of never having that person to begin with. It’s about unrequited love. It’s about feeling invisible. But alas, Ani has a way of writing the theme tunes to our love lives we can all share.

The teenage boy and his dad have squeezed their way near the stage too and are standing behind me. The teen stands stoic but holds up his phone towards the stage. He snaps a few pics of Ani as she makes her final bow and jogs off stage.

I have to ask:
“Do you like Ani Difranco?” I shout up to his ear.
He turns to me, his mouth is tight lipped, curled slightly up. His floppy hair is covering his face.
“No, not really -” He says shaking his head “ - But my mom did."
“I think Untouchable Face was her favourite song” he tells me, his dad is listening and he smiles at us.
“That’s pretty bad-ass” I say.
“She was pretty bad-ass” the father and son tell me in unison.

***

Additional resources:
These California Maximum Security Prisoners are Making an Album

Singular White Feminist

When a blanket of senseless media sources revealed to the world that Emma Watson recently had an “awkward” moment when she offered to pay on a date, it inspired me to examine the futility behind the interview. What a wealthy white Hollywood actress and her equally-privileged date decide to do with the food bill on a date is hardly the kind of feminist comparison the people down here need to hear about in 2014. Call me a rebel, but I’d like to hear something that’s actually - bloody - “awkward”.

I’m a fan of Emma Watson and I believe her 2014 UN speech brought awareness to gender equality and she absolutely means well in her feminist work. Her speech, however, lacked any mention of intersectional feminism (cite Kimberlé Crenshaw) and the hashtag itself #HeforShe suggests a male-centric (not to mention binary-gender) feminism.

But she has learnt a lot since then and is still learning and oh god, aren't we all...

But let’s not kid ourselves, people listened to her, and the media covered the story not only because it was “game-changing” but because she’s famous, and pretty, and has a pleasing-sounding accent, and she’s straight, cisgender and white. And that’s the catch 22 of the her advantage: We listened to her because of all those factors, and she knew she’d be heard. This gives both the audience (mostly other whites) and the speaker the advantage -- a cycle that leaves everybody else out. But I’ll spare the speech on Critical Race Theory and how white supremacy gets internalized.

Emma Watson failed to acknowledge her white privilege just like so many other “feminist heroes” in Hollywood ever do. Because it’s irrelevant, they say. It shouldn’t matter. We’re all in this together.

People call this White Feminism.

Wait...isn’t that a little harsh? Isn’t that, like, racist?

I didn’t make it up, but I will explain it: White feminism works on the assumption that all women are equally oppressed. It’s putting the concerns of Western white women before any other group, often leaving issues concerning women of colour out of the conversation completely. And it’s saviour based -- Let me help you. Let me take over. Let me change you.

So yes, I’m pulling the race card -- Because so many voices of colour don’t feel heard. They don’t feel represented. It’s actually a really shitty thing that still happens in our society.

Equality does not equal sameness. Feminism is not the same for everyone. White experiences are not universal. We’re not all in “this” together because “this” is experienced differently by everyone. Women’s rights are a complicated issue.

If a white feminist such as myself says “yeah me too” when speaking to a woman of colour about her issues of feminism, I’ve got my blinders on. I do not experience misogyny the way a Muslim woman does.

I’m pretty, petite, eloquently-spoken, heterosexual in lifestyle, white, working class, Canadian, single, able-bodied, with the freedom to experiment sexually and spiritually, and people listen to me. – That's called privilege. And it’s not lost on me. When I say something to the police, they listen to me. Then they believe me.

I don’t need to apologize for being white. Nor am I saying that all white people are privileged. Calling out white feminism is not attacking the white woman, it’s pointing out that white privilege prevents us from seeing the views of other feminist issues outside of our own bubble. This has been absolutely true for me.

Take gender pay equality for example; white women earn on average less than men however black women get paid less than white women, Hispanic women even less still. No, they don’t blame it all on me but you can see why they’re not rushing to be part of my feminist sisterhood.

It means that sure, I may not want my white western daughter wearing a burqa because I feel it symbolizes oppression (not to mention culturally inappropriate) it's acknowledging that the burqa means something different to an Afghani woman. The symbols for our little girls are not the same. Believing that they are is practicing a theory of feminism that isn’t intersectional.

We are not perfect feminists. We have so much to learn. And if the term White Feminism bothers you a bit, chances are it’s because you’re white. It certainly did me when I first heard it but like most lessons in life, I’ve learned this the uncomfortable way. Be careful not to shut out the people who challenge you, who make you feel uncomfortable. Keep them around -- they are there to teach you something. Take your blinders off.

This means that as a white feminist I have to educate myself on the issues of feminism outside my community (mostly white), and my Facebook friends list (mostly white), and outside the feminist role models I’ve been exposed to and have grown up admiring (mostly white).

It means that I don’t need to follow people like Amy Poehler and Lena Dunham on Twitter because most of what they preach will appear in a news source, my Facebook feed, or on a late night talk show. What mainstream media and what Tina Fey won’t tell me is how it feels to live with issues like poverty, the over-policing and under-protection of black women, female sterilization, domestic abuse, rape culture, transgender violence, and men being victims of the patriarchy.

Sadly in most cases, activists don’t really understand these other sides. They don’t want to look at how they are part of what keeps other people pushed down. So we have a lot to learn from each other.

Time to move on from idolizing the rich ladies of Hollywood to listening to voices that come from an intersect community:

The 20 year old Saudi who expresses her empowerment when she wears her hijab.
The 58 year old white male with depression who is sick of having to put on a macho front.
The 25 year old openly gay American football player.
The 25 year old black girl who is angry as fuck about the violence that happens in her community.
The 36 year old Muslim woman who challenges white feminism.
The 21 year old queer Korean who practices feminist makeupping.
The 76 year old Mexican Catholic grandmother who worries marriage is a dying institution.
The teenage lesbian woman of colour who is fighting obesity.
The white single mom from Detroit who lives in poverty.
Sex workers
Buddhist feminists, Jewish feminists, teenage feminists, male feminists, black feminists.

No, I'm not obsessed with labels, their identities are relevant.

Follow them directly on social media. If you really want to know what feminism sounds like, if you want to hear the thoughts and opinions of feminists listen to them first-hand instead of via mainstream news sources who rarely voice the minority or fringe views and often mis-quote or change up the context. Read the tweets that make you uncomfortable. Ask yourself why it makes you uncomfortable. You will begin to get an idea just how diverse the landscape of feminism is. Some follow me back because they too want to be part of an intersectional feminist community, but most don't because they're probably sick as shit of white feminists.

And please don’t suggest I get off my working-single-mum-of-two butt and do some charity work in a foreign country; that’s your privilege showing.

Just as much as it probably frustrates you to see a room full of 12 white men making policy for a nation, I’m sure for much of the global female population it frustrates them to see the same 12 white American female celebrities as the token voices for feminism. (Amy, Amy, Tina, Lena, Anne, Hermione, Zoe, Hilary, Lorde, Taylor, Patricia, and .....).

Gasp! But these women are awesome!
Sure, but they hardly represent diversity and hardly ever acknowledge their privilege.

I’m a huge supporter of celebrities using their platform to advocate. It’s effective. They have power. Caitlyn Jenner (who actually acknowledges her privilege) is speaking up on the suicide rate of transgender youth, Amandla Stenberg speaks up about cultural appropriation, Michael J Fox, stem-cell research. I don’t believe Hollywood actors/ pop stars should shut up and stick to their art. No way. But as an audience, listen to them, allow them to enlighten you and keep moving. Educate yourself further.

I support Amy Schumer and Lena Dunham who are demanding respect in their industry, demanding equal pay and demanding their scripts to be picked up. They’re kicking butt in their industry and they're killing it. But if you look around at the rest of the world, those women, those girls...they are drowning.

Lastly, when a black woman declares “Black women are beautiful!” hi-jacking it by claiming “We are all beautiful” is an insult to her feminism. When an Aboriginal student declares she feels it’s racism that prevents her from winning awards, don’t gasp and say she’s targeting white women. Shut up, listen, and open your eyes to what she’s pointing out. If you see it too, support her.

There’s a reason I don’t chime in on matters of the hijab, black misogyny, inner-city poverty, aboriginal oppression and policy for sex trade workers. As white feminists, we don’t have to chime in on these issues. We can shut up and listen. This goes for male privilege too.

So you want me to listen to what other people say but say nothing?

Yup.

Well, that doesn’t seem very feminist.

Yes, actually it does.

Well, don’t I have an opinion too?

Yes, you do. Just make sure you check your privilege first and know that you don’t always have to make every issue about you.

Geez, sounds like there’s a lot of “rules” to follow.

Yeah, well, no one said living with a bunch of other people on the same planet was going to be easy.

***

(Recommended Internet reading: Google "Here's why it's not racist to talk about white privilege" ) 

Summer Shorts

My summer so far has been full-bodied and I've been squeezing out some spare time to edit my short stories and write new ones for my Wordpress site.

Stay tuned for more FeministBuddhist content in the near future posted right here.

In the meantime, please visit my site for some Sinclair Shorty-Shorts.

Have a safe and sane summer.