Have you ever stopped and wondered, “am I a bad feminist?” I know I have, and I know that I am not alone. Roxane Gay, an American writer, talked about how she was constantly a bad feminist in her book titled the same. She talked about how even though she supported women’s rights, she would still find herself dancing along to the catchy beats of a misogynistic song. But I am here to tell you that none of those things make you a ‘bad’ feminist, however, not being intersectional in your approach will. I have talked about feminism so much that I am now minoring in gender studies, and recently I realised that I still have not talked about intersectionality. In order to truly be a feminist, it is important to know the I’s of feminism and not just the ABCs. 

 If you’re not aware of what intersectionality means, do not fret! Here’s your word of the day; ‘intersectionality’ first emerged as a concept in legal studies introduced by Kimberle Crenshaw. It is an analytical framework to understand how different aspects of someone’s identity come together and create different types of obstacles. It sounds like a very complicated concept but it really is not, it is actually quite intuitive. 

Look at it this way, a white woman and a black woman are both victims of patriarchy, however, the black woman also has the added obstacle of systemic racism. Her identity, in this way, comes together to create obstacles that are unique to her. Basically, intersectionality looks at different systems of oppression such as colonialism, homophobia, misogyny, disability, etc. and how they compound one another. 

‘White’ feminism or feminism that only looks at gender when talking about any social inequity completely disregards other forms of oppression that might affect an individual’s life. For example, 1 in 5 women in college reported being sexually assaulted and while that statistic is terrifying and should be thought about, it is also important to know that women who identify as being bisexual are more likely to be sexually assaulted than women who don’t. 

Intersectional feminism takes into account racism, classism, casteism, transphobia, homophobia, etc. It looks at all parts of a person’s identity and not just the part we, as a society, are most comfortable with. ‘White’ feminism only benefits a very small, very privileged strata of our society. It is more palatable, more comfortable but it is not right. If we are not intersectional, we forget the most vulnerable people amongst us. They are the ones who fall through the cracks and aren’t uplifted.   

Systems of oppression often work together and one replaces the other. If we truly want to leave the world better than we found it, we have to start making our activism more intersectional. It might take you a while to get comfortable with the idea of intersectionality but if you aren’t uncomfortable, you’re not growing. 

Hubris (/ˈhjuːbrɪs/)

noun

‘Excessive pride or self-confidence.’

Despite starting this blog almost four years ago, it has come to a standstill. I do not post as often as I can, and I do not display my best work. But why is that? Why don’t I put more effort into something that I genuinely love? After all, writing has been the one constant in my life. 

At first, the reason I gave everyone, including myself, was that I did not write for an audience. Writing was something deeply intimate for me; only the people I trusted and cherished saw what I wrote. It was a window to my soul, and it was not open for everyone. I believe that whenever you procure your art for an audience, it ends up having capitalistic undertones. There’s competition, monetization, advertisement, a race to be more accessible, more widely known, better monetized. But when you get paid for your art, does it remain the same?

My logic was ironclad, and even I could not find what was wrong with it. And then, I came across the word ‘hubris,’ My problem was not with the monetization and ultimately the capitalistic aspect of blogging, or even the fact that I only wrote for myself. My problem was pride. I do not take criticism well. And putting your art out there into the wild world is the same as offering yourself to a pack of hungry wolves. Sure, there is a chance that you will survive, but there will be claw marks on your previously perfect skin. I had too much pride to get myself hurt like that. 

I told myself hell would have to freeze over for me to put my art out there, to be vulnerable. And then it did. Fleeing from a country in under seven hours, being quarantined in a room for a month, not being able to step out of the house for three months, and having an actual curfew made me realize a lot of things. One, I am not as introverted as I believed myself to be. And two, you do not know when life will take an unexpected turn. 

I did not know that my first year of college would come to a disastrous end; forget the end of year parties, I was scrambling to find a seat on the first airplane out of there. And as I sat in my once comfortable–now confinement–bed, I realized that there is nothing that could happen to me that was worse than a pandemic. Optimistic nihilism is the key. Since nothing matters and everything must come to an end, you might as well do what you truly want. If there is no point in the world, and all of our desperate attempts to engrave our initials on the walls of the world are a moot point, then I will do what I have always wanted to. I will encapsulate my personality, my writings, my art, and immortalize myself. Even if deep down, I know that is just a beautiful delusion. 

So, here it is, my proper attempt at blogging, immortalizing my words. And all it took was a pandemic.

“Colour is my daylong obsession, joy, and torment.”

As the universe erupted, and lives collided, we came to be. Human life was a kaleidoscope of colours, mistakes, and discoveries; it was modern art.

I was only eight years old, scrawny and little when my parent decided to take me to an art museum with them. As a pudgy baby, I loved colours, and so my parents thought it was only logical to introduce me to some of the most intricately placed colours ever.

The museum had a “modern art” section. Canvases with intricate borders and seemingly random colours adorned the walls of the hall. At first, I couldn’t see it. For me, it was something even I could have done, but as my mother had pointed out, I hadn’t.

I stood in front of the painting, and for a moment, everything was still. And then something happened, the colours stirred, dance was born. The seemingly random explosions of colour rearranged themselves; I could almost hear their hurried footsteps.

thump,
thump,
thump.

The paintings were a different reality for each of us. I could hear my tiny heart fluttering inside my chest, falling for the primordial energy on the canvas. And since then, I’ve fallen in love with a lot of things; men, women, books, and poems but my first love will always be modern art.

There was something magical about the canvas, something you don’t find often. I could see the brush strokes, some hurried and some languid. The colours intertwined with each other, a myriad of emotions. Sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet. Since then, I have come to see modern art in almost everything but most importantly, in how we came to be.

At first, there was an explosion, a collision, a prophecy. Erupting colours, flickering lights, chaos. We are humans; with technicolor stories behind our eyes and a sea of emotions in our soul. Then came the splattering drops of rain, the rage of fire. We were no longer one, colors reflected from the eyes of trillions. We found love, violence, and fear. Every emotion was a different stroke on the canvas of the universe.

And one day, a mad civilization arose, intertwining us further. A mighty wallop of ideas, the ache to create something new, to stand out. We made mistakes, and we made discoveries. We hid our mistakes with hurried and haggard strokes of our brush. Never to be seen.

Soon, we forgot that our initials are not carved into anything immortal, Forgetting that we did not make the painting, but the painting made us. The sun does not shine for us, and the earth does not feel our footsteps. Time does not wait for us because it isn’t for us.

We are a kaleidoscope of emotions, mistakes, and desires. We have nothing expected of us, just like the paintings that adorn the halls of the museum. We are a beautiful, colorful mess.

Who knew modern art was an age-old love story?

“The Ethical Paradox: are we inherently good?”

Is morality in the eyes of the beholder?

For years, generations have wondered whether human nature is inherently good and hence, corrupted by society or inherently bad and kept in check because of society. According to Sigmund Freud, our personality has three parts; Id, Ego, and Super-Ego.

The Id is the child of our personality. It only focuses on the gratification of our needs; it doesn’t have a sense of right or wrong. These are our instincts. The Ego is what keeps us in check, it is the adult. Even though the Ego isn’t affiliated with our sense of right or wrong, it works out realistic ways to fulfill Id’s demands. The Super-Ego is our moral compass, it is the parent. It pushes the Ego towards moralistic goals rather than just realistic ones and to strive for perfection.

These three parts are the metaphorical angel and devil sitting on your shoulders, blame all your bad decisions on them. So, how do these three make up your personality? If your Id overpowered the other two, your sense of right and wrong wouldn’t matter to you at all. Society’s norms and rules would completely go out of the window. Remember that person you’ve punched in your head? You wouldn’t just be punching them in your head. If your Ego overpowers the two, like most people, you would realize that going up to a person and punching them isn’t exactly socially acceptable. Instead, you’d wait for an opportunity to hit them when and where it would be socially acceptable or at least in the grey areas of morality. If your Super-Ego overpowers your personality, you would basically be a martyr. Instead of punching that person, you’d probably give them a hug and ask them what’s wrong.

In most of us, all these three parts balance each other out; none of them overpowers the other. Which brings us back to the million-dollar question-are we inherently good or bad? Based on various studies, it’s proven that our first and intuitive response is to help or cooperate. But does this mean we are naturally cooperative, or that it has become instinctive because cooperation is rewarded by society?

The biological answer is that we have evolved behaviors that will help us survive and reproduce, which means killing someone is crossed off the list. But general morality is easy. So easy, that we don’t venture into the grey areas because we’re so comfortable being good. But this aversion to grey zones- stem cell research, abortion, gun laws-prevents us from changing the world for the better.

Moral conflicts arise when there are conflicting needs between the spheres of life. It may be good for me, but nor for her. Good for us, but not for them. Good for humans, but not for other animals. We’re complicated species-both moral and immoral as our environment and psychology dictate. But, mostly we want to be good. For now, I’d stick with that.

“If any movement needs satire, it’s feminism. Humour isn’t about appeasing the patriarchy, but rolling over it in an armoured car”

It’s (Not) Funny

Feminism doesn’t always lend itself to comedy. Many would argue that the driving force of feminism is the anger that we carry so well, and that watering down this anger to make it more palatable to a broader audience by making it funny is ultimately going against the movement because “funny feminism is inspired by the fear that feminism won’t get anywhere unless it is likable”

Our feminism is stifled by the belief that we’ve won some battles, that by making feminism likable; we can make it more visible. Feminism can be funny but, in the end, its anger that changes everything. We’re told we’re valued until we accuse a known man of rape. We’re told we’re free until we’re told that burkhas oppress us. We’re told we’re respected until we’re harassed as we walk down streets.

At its core, feminism should be angry. Angry because we’re still being taken for granted, angry because we’re being sold lies packaged in a capitalist wrapping paper with a pretty bow. To put it bluntly, feminism shouldn’t be afraid to piss a few people off.

Knock, knock. Who is it? A funny feminist.

Whilst other political movements use satire and humour as a crutch, apparently, some of us are hampering the destruction of the patriarchy with our jokes. Comedy and satire have always been a part of politics and vice versa. All because in the right light, comedy and satire can be a kick to the oppressive backside of authorities- who by definition don’t have a funny bone in their body. To be funny is to be witty, to be able to push the bully down all while having a laugh.

In the age of new media, where stand-up comedy and sarcasm are the keys to popular opinion, funny feminism is just adapting to the millennial way of living. Visibility is an important part of any political movement. We want to be heard, we want to be seen. And if throwing a few jokes in our political rants does the trick, why not?

If you think about it, being a funny feminist falls right under the dos of feminism. It isn’t fair to pit comedy against anger, being funny doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t care about basic rights or you don’t have strong political opinions. If anything, using comedy in situations related to politics means that the signs you hold up during a rally will be politically correct and also funny.

Hell hath no fury like a (un)funny feminist

Excuse my sense of humour but somehow making jokes about the seemingly endless era of patriarchy we’re living in just doesn’t seem that funny to me.

For a long time now, feminists have been told that their message won’t reach the masses as long as they’re seen as man-hating and angry. But is that what we really want our descendants to learn about feminism? That it should appease everyone, it should be non-threatening and popular. Feminism that lends itself to pop-culture is destined to fail because in a patriarchy-and you should know we’re living in one-things that are popular are the ones approved by men.

When feminists decide they want to appeal to everyone, to make feminism funnier and more accepted, they’re giving in to the patriarchy because in our society what is popular is whatever is deemed acceptable by men. When we joke about feminism, we make it okay for others to joke about feminism. And maybe your need for feminism might not be that serious, there might be someone in a distant country who doesn’t need feminism to be funny but to be angry. Angry on their behalf.

Hurts like hell with a funny feminist

To think of feminist who is funny as not truly political is to once again hold women to different standards than men. Just because our political rants start with a joke doesn’t mean you take it as a joke.

Sometimes, you need to use sarcasm and humour to pierce through the thick skin of people who aren’t feminists. Anger gives them an option to blame your political rants on your menstrual cycle or worse that you’re only a feminist so that women like you. Wherever there is objective truth, there is satire.

We cloak our vitriol in humour” People are often funny because they are angry, satire and comedy amplify and funnels our anger. Humour is powerful and insightful. While it may not help us topple over governments, it is a heavily armoured vehicle. Humour is anti-establishment. Funny feminists shouldn’t be considered as people-pleasers. After all, it is comedy that offends most people.

Might as well have a laugh on our way towards the matriarchal utopia.

“Can feminists be funny?”

One of those questions that have an obvious answer, but still work reliably well as click-baits. Can feminists be funny? Can they take a joke? Is Delhi hot in summers? Are you spending too much time on your phone? Do America’s gun laws need reforming? Does India need to broaden its horizons?

Yes, obviously.

While I agree that movements need to be radical and challenge the society, there is a conflation of a few issues here; the feeling that some feminists are “appeasing” men or the patriarchy by trying to be liked, that feminists who are funny are not being truly political.

Feminists can be funny, they can be angry. But in the end, we’re all feminists, and we all want the same thing. Equality doesn’t mean that men and women will be the same; it just means that the opportunities they get will not depend on whether they were born male or female

Feminism has layers, just like everything in life; it isn’t exactly black and white. The first few layers of feminism are funny, they’re jokes and satire which cloaks the core of feminism; which is anger. Just because someone jokes about feminism doesn’t mean it is a joke.
.

“My wish for you is that you continue. You continue to be who you are, to astonish a mean world with your acts of kindness”

When Jane Doe, a sixteen-year-old, looked at herself in the full-length mirror she saw everything that she didn’t like about herself; the too broad shoulders, the way her hips widened quite a lot and the stretch marks on her thighs. She remembered the times when she scampered around in her shorts, a wee little girl with hairy legs. At eight years of age, she hadn’t yet realized that her body ‘belonged’ to society.

At the age of thirteen, Jane lay awake at night, her hands on her growling stomach as she enjoyed the feeling of hip bones growing more prominent. She didn’t understand why her friends were suddenly all worried, how could she be too thin when she was still too fat? She stood in front of the mirror, prodding and poking.

At the age of fifteen, Jane Doe read about gravity, she read about how her weight was just the force with which Earth was holding on to her. She read about feminism, how everyone deserved to live in their body without the prejudice of others. She read poems of poets who praised her beauty endlessly. She read about how infinite the universe was, how everything that she thought wasn’t good enough about her was insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. She read about the world around her and realized how society drowns people in a sea of narcissistic self-loathing. It was saddening to think that the thing that unifies humans was that at some point we have looked at our bodies and felt the whole sum of our worth amount to how much our thighs touch in the middle.

At sixteen, Jane realized that her body had endured sixteen years of punishing self-hatred. Walking down the streets, she counted her worth by the glances she got. How she’d been sucked into the machinations of the society, measuring her worth by some numbers on a scale.

She looked at herself in the mirror and saw everything that she didn’t love, but she also saw everything that was uniquely her. She could now admire someone else’s beauty without questioning her own; she could see other girls as her comrades and not competition.

Sometimes, I take a step back from my life and look at myself from another perspective, I ask myself ‘why am I so preoccupied with perfecting everything around me?’ And when I finish falling through my spiral of thoughts, I always come to the same conclusion; I, am just like any other human, I want to leave a tiny mark in this infinitely tiny universe I call my life, I don’t want to miss out on anything.

It is very hard to do any work when I’m questioning my own existence, I realize how terribly short our lives are, how all of us are so alone in the universe, how we are born and die, alone. In hindsight, the idea of death and loneliness doesn’t scare me, I embrace the void, what scares me is the ultimate freedom we, as humans, have. Yes, its liberating and freedom has always been the jewel in the pantheon of life, but it also means that we have the freedom to do ANYTHING. It means that you have upon you the herculean task of deciding what you want your life to be, what for you is the meaning of life.

For me, the meaning of life is very simple, it’s to be happy now and make sure that you’re happy in the future, it means knowing that you can’t escape the void and having the courage to embrace the rock and roll awesomeness of the universe. Do whatever you have to do, to make sure you’re happy now and happy in the future, I know it sounds cheesy but life really is too short. We have to embrace the freedom and find it empowering and exciting so when you look back at your life you have no regrets or unfulfilled dreams.
You’re alive, you’re a human with a terribly short life, you’re an individual mind in this universe who can do anything and everything they have ever wanted or dreamed of and there’s no point in existing if you’re not going to do it.

The thing is that, the universe doesn’t care. The world doesn’t owe you anything, it won’t stop for you and your little problems, time will slip past your fingers. It’s up to you to make your life the best life that you can, to take control of your life and decide what for you is the meaning of life. Embrace the void and the bluntness of the universe, have the courage to exist. There is so much joy and happiness in the world for anybody to waste their time being unhappy or slumping, whatever makes you unhappy, deal with it. It is up to you to make your life as fulfilling and happy as you can, take every moment and make it memorable.

Dear People of Earth,

I’m a feminist, now before you tell me how much I hate men, let me tell you one thing; Feminism for me means equality between the two genders, just because the name ‘feminism’ suggests female supremacy doesn’t mean it’s what it really stands for. Feminism means agreeing to the fact that women aren’t always the innocent ones, that women can be monsters too but knowing at the same time that women don’t have as many rights, social or political, as men have.

Contrary to popular belief, I’m not angry at the world. Just like all of us, I’m doing my bit to make it better. Granted, feminism has come a long way since the beginning of time but one way or another we’re still fighting a war. I’m sure most of you are all for equality and yet there’s one glimmer of doubt; ‘is it helping?’ Rome wasn’t built in a day, every time another person supports feminism, its helping. Every time a girl can speak her mind and be as bold as she wants to. It’s helping. You might not see it yet, but when you look at the bigger picture, it sure as hell is helping.

I don’t think any type of feminism is wrong, or that you can be a ‘bad’ feminist. However, putting other women down, saying that they aren’t feminists because of ‘your’ idea of feminism can be termed as ‘bad feminism’. Any person, male or female, straight or queer, black or white, bold or shy can support equality in their own way,  just because a woman decides to be a housewife doesn’t mean that she’s oppressed and that she’s not a feminist, just like a woman wearing a hijab consentingly isn’t oppressed.

Women can conquer, rule, destroy, and lead just as much as men can, that doesn’t mean that they’re above men, or below them. Feminism points to a future where there would no longer be a need to fight for rights, no need to constantly prove that women are just as good as men. But until that day, feminism is important and you can’t tell me otherwise.

Signed,

A feminist.