Abstract
I FIRST REALIZED that I might be a feminist late in college. It happened during a conversation over hot chocolate on a wintry Wisconsin day. The conversation began “when Sarah, an incredibly patient and forgiving friend, invited me to attend a lecture by Gloria Steinem on the impact of feminism in higher education. Looking back, I have no doubt that Sarah could tell that I had no interest in the topic. Her “words during that conversation still bring a smile to my face. “Eric,” she said, “you need to stop denying that you are a feminist.” On that day, the idea of being a feminist had no appeal for me. At the age of twenty, I “was not even going to consider that I might be a feminist.
At this point, I think I should explain my childhood and its impact on my view of feminism. I grew up “with progressively minded parents. I believe that my mother “would call herself a feminist, but I cannot imagine my father making that statement. While my parents have always stated a belief in equality for women, I grew up observing them in very traditional gender roles. My small, rural hometown produced traditional families and placed traditional expectations on the children “who grew up there. Subtle, sexist messages throughout high school about proper careers for men and “women defined early for me “what my role “was as a man in society and how this differed from that of my female classmates. My female friends sat beside me in honors courses to prepare for college but also sat “without males in home economics classes to prepare to be “wives and mothers. In my history classes, we studied all of the U.S. presidents but never talked about “why they “were all men. In my literature classes, we read a lot of Shakespeare but very little that a woman had “written. This was the “way things were, and I never wondered whether there might be other things to learn or whether I “was being intentionally prepared for something different than the “women in my high school “were being prepared for.
Two years before the conversation “with Sarah, as I walked onto campus, I still had not heard of the “word feminism or acknowledged the struggle to promote a deeper understanding of the inequalities that “women face daily inside and outside the classroom. During that year, I felt at odds “with feminists in my classes “who always seemed much too concerned about what I perceived to be trivial issues instead of the topics. Issues such as the power of male-centered language in English literature, a male-dominated canon, the lack of “women in science, and the paucity of female faculty members were always topics of conversation that I had little time to engage in. At that age, I had already been programmed to deflect all the issues “with standard answers that silenced the feminists. I defended the status quo, and I avoided taking “women's studies courses. I opted instead to pursue safer areas of the curriculum, in which I had allies instead of adversaries. Still, as much as I tried to avoid the topics, I could not escape Sarah, who lived on my floor and shared many of my classes. The issues that she was continually attempting to discuss, such as unequal pay for women in the workforce or differing treatment of women in the classroom, seemed like more important issues to me than the trivial ones brought up by the other feminists in my classes. I was on Sarah's side in almost all of the late night discussions we found ourselves immersed in that year. She proved to be a patient teacher.
This brings me back to that wintry day. Sarah spoke, while I argued, about the role of women in society. She hit on some of the larger issues that we agreed on, such as fair pay and equal access to education. Then she tied in the topics of language, patriarchy, child care, and the canon—issues I had previously heard about and argued against as feminist perspectives. She spoke passionately and eloquently. My response after an hour? I ran away. I had concluded that because I was not a woman I could not be a feminist. I was not comfortable with carrying that title. Even when I agreed with what Sarah was saying, I could not say it out loud. instead, I stated that I was concerned about more ‘'important” and “relevant” issues. I said that I agreed that Sarah had brought up important topics in the beginning, but then she had gone too far. That day, I argued that women must have the same rights as men but that many of her other perspectives were just pushing things too far. It was at this point, at the end of the conversation, that Sarah told me that I was a feminist but that I still had a lot to learn. This was one of my first teachable moments with feminism, but it was just one in a long line that would bring me to a much deeper understanding of the goals of the movement. After a number of years and many other patient teachers, I would slowly begin to see how the trivial issues built on one another to become essential in understanding bigger issues.
In the years since those first educational moments with Sarah, many other friends, colleagues, and students have spoken to me about the importance of feminism in their lives. They have not always had the language to explain how it has affected them, but it was all right there in their words and stories. I listened to their voices and decided that I had a vested interest in ‘'their” issues. Conversations with a respected high school teacher, my mother, and others helped me to understand that feminism, which I began to understand as women's fight for equality and the ability to have choices, is essential not only to women but to everyone. In order to build learning environments free from prejudice, we all have an obligation to educate and understand the challenges of both genders. This is particularly true for men in higher education. We must be concerned about the big issues as well as the issues that I initially saw as less essential—such as language and what texts we choose to include in courses or whom we choose to bring to speak at our colleges and universities. Women encounter enough challenges on college campuses and in their lives without having to face subtle, sexist behavior from classmates, faculty, or staff. Sexist attitudes are so embedded in our culture that they go unrecognized by the otherwise enlightened people who possess them.
A RECENT EXPERIENCE reminded me of how sexism can disempower women in a community without many even noticing it. A Nobel Peace Prize recipient visited my campus and spoke to an audience of five thousand. He was invited to speak as part of a programming series meant to create opportunities for campus and community reflection in light of the terrorist attacks on the United States of September 11, 2001. His speech was focused on international commumty, America's role in promoting global understanding, and what we can do as individuals to increase understanding both in our communities and globally. The speech was filled with personal stories that told of his struggle in overcoming apartheid and racial hatred. Embedded alongside his message of triumph and compassion were subtle, sexist comments that I was surprised to hear. I don't believe that his choice of stories “was meant to hurt or demean, but they put “women in a place of being objects more than colleagues in the pursuit of peace. Three years ago. I would not have noticed these subtle messages. They would have just been an unintended, unnoticed message that further calcified sexism into my worldview. The speech, no matter how powerful it “was, left me feeling that it could at its best inspire only half the audience. That cannot be good enough.
This past fall semester, I had the privilege of serving as a teaching assistant for the instructor of an introductory women's studies course. During the seventeen “weeks of the semester, the instructor helped both the women and the men in the class understand how feminism can promote opportunities for women. The instructor presented new ideas and challenged assumptions without stating that she was right and others wrong. She did this through a feminist teaching style that promoted collaborative methods of inquiry. She laid out the argument that there are multiple “ways to see the world and stated that although she “was presenting her own view, she did not presume to be the final arbiter of truth. Through conversation and the promotion of reflection, through thoughtful questions and short “writing assignments, she presented students with the opportunity to choose their own perspectives. She expected from herself and the students that they listen to others’ words, read with an open mind, and challenge themselves as much as the others in the class. Weekly I experienced a great deal of cognitive dissonance, as did most of the students. It “was the beginning of another portion of my understanding of diversity and social justice issues. At the end of the semester, eight years after that conversation with Sarah, I finally understood “what Sarah was speaking about that day. I was beginning to see how everything is connected and how the issues that seem small promote the development or continuation of the issues I deem important. I also started to call myself a feminist in public.
As faculty and staff, we have a great responsibility to be aware of how our own attitudes affect the messages that we send to our students. The texts we choose for the classroom, the messages we send to students we advise, the intended and unintended messages our speakers promote, and the people we hire for positions are all colored by our own experiences and perceptions. It has taken eight years, deep reflection on my part, and many patient and persistent teachers and mentors to help me understand the intense change needed to support institutional environments that promote equally the development of our male and female students. Now that I can say out loud that I am a feminist, all that I have left to do is to help develop an environment on campus that ensures equal opportunities and choices for all our men and women.