I happened across this image on imgur. Some might remember that I posted an image from the same event a long while ago in another post on here (http://thirst2.xanga.com/716273608/race-sex-sexual-orientation---an-intelligent-assessment-of-controversy/).

Longstanding tensions between disgruntled African American sanitation workers and Memphis city officials erupted on February 12, 1968 when nearly one thousand workers refused to report to work demanding higher wages, safer working conditions, and recognition of their union, local 1733 of the American Federation of State, County, and Municipal Employees. Despite organizing city-wide boycotts, sit-ins, and daily marches, the city's sanitation workers were initially unable to secure concessions from municipal officials. At the urging of Reverend James T. Lawson, Martin Luther King, Jr. agreed to come to Memphis and lead a nonviolent demonstration in support of the sanitation workers. On March 29 over five thousand demonstrators, carrying signs which read "I Am A Man," participated in King's march. However, the peaceful demonstration took a turn for the worse when an estimated two hundred participants began breaking storefront windows and looting. The ensuing violence resulted in the death of Larry Payne, a sixteen year old African American who was killed by Memphis police officers, the imposition of a city-wide curfew, and the mobilization of nearly four thousand National Guard troops. Deeply troubled by the violent outbreak, King vowed to return to Memphis to lead a peaceful demonstration. On April 3, 1968, nearly two months after the initial start of the strike, King returned to Memphis and delivered what would be his last public speech. The following evening King was assassinated on the second-floor balcony of the Lorraine Motel. In the wake of King's death, President Lyndon B. Johnson sent James Reynolds, undersecretary of labor, to Memphis to help resolve the strike. Nearly two weeks later on April 16, the Memphis sanitation workers' strike ended when the city agreed to issue raises to African American employees and recognize the workers' union.

There are those who would call the image (or at least the sign) iconic. Reading the comments of imgur, it would seem otherwise.

They see his beard and know he is a man.

Who let beardy in line without a sign?

Epic Beard.

You say you a man? You a funky man...

so racist... white people can be men too

Who brings a sign to a gun fight?

Talk about irony. The beardy is not a man.

I think anyone who reads this xanga readily understands that I'm not very fond on the concept of gender-roles; that being said, they existed (stiflingly) in the 50s and the notion of being a man held importance. The phrase "I AM A MAN" here refered not only to the fact that African Americans were human but that they ought to have the same rights that white men had: the ability to work, the right to respect, etc. Literally that White America consistently and systematically emasculated black men.

The reason the white person does not have a sign, imgur, is because he has all those things already. He is there as an ally and to support.

While three or so comments seem to understand that this is related to civil rights (not entirely difficult to figure out), none seem to be aware of what this picture is of, specifically. Iconic indeed.

And, don't get me wrong. I'm generally of the opinion you can make a joke out of almost anything. Some of those comments would be funny with the understanding that everyone knew what the picture was of and respected what it represented. See, this is imgur; this is the photo upload site where, if you upload a picture of the military or something related to Queer rights, everyone goes somber, talking about the need to respect these sacred things.

Apparently not for race.

But we know that's not actually it; they're just woefully ignorant of black history – which really isn't their fault. As I was talking about jazz music with my dad, I off-handedly mentioned the Harlem Renaissance – at which point he asked me to explain what that was.

He had never been taught about it; he had never even heard of it.

At some Hardy Party a few years ago – as my tipsy boyfriend wanted to just make out and I wanted to cuddle and talk –, Andrew illustrated that the difference between our two worldviews (particularly when it came to physical attractiveness) was that I derived goodness, or morality, from function while he derived it from beauty; as he had put it then, something has worth from its beauty alone.

While an interesting dynamic, he had my worldview wrong. While I don't think I've given any large defense on the importance of art, my own appreciation for it (and, thus, its implied importance) is rather evident throughout the whole of my xanga. I mean, after all, I majored in English in part because I'm a (thus far recreational) writer; clearly art is of importance to me. And, once again obvious from my xanga, I generally don't take a all-art-is-equal approach to it. In this regard, I seem to agree fully with him that a ranking by beauty is fully acceptable and even encouraged (though it is notable that I assess art largely through a logical criterion in which emotional response is often less important than the other facets of said criterion (at least outside of personal assessment of art); more important to me is form (though often the second least important aspect), symbolism, message, etc. Of course, this may be in part due to my complicated relationship with emotions and that they are, for the most part for me, derived from how I logically and intellectually assess things rather than any instinctual, thoughtless emotional response).

Yet, when it comes to physical attractiveness (and the point which caused Andrew to make this distinction), I take, at my most extreme, the exact opposite approach. Now, the reasoning behind it is less ideal, to me, because it's necessitated by a technicality of life rather than on a merit of its own; of course, this may be a result of the fact that, while I think it important, this notion of upholding and celebrating beauty for the sake of beauty actually has no clear basis (as far as I've seen thus far) on my morality (hurting a person or restraining zir autonomy is immoral).

The technicality of my defense of beauty in general and an opposition to physical attractiveness is that, when it comes to a person, you should only judge based on their merit; judging someone based on how they were born is one of the cruelest and unacceptable positions to take. Contrasting that, art has no ability to create itself and no feelings; thus, we can judge the fuck out of it (of course, that may just be an extension of the fact that the artwork doesn't make itself and, thus, we are judging the creative work of another person).

 

All of this is to preface my difficult relationship with accessories that often intersect with ideas of physical attractiveness (clothing, makeup, etc.). For example, I had been against makeup; while I personally don't like it, my bigger reason was that I felt it was an extension (or remnant) of the patriarchy's attempt to control women's appearances (though I often mentioned the latter far less than the formal due an uncertainty about an sound argument for the latter). However, in the long run (in spite of our habit to try to universalize all personal opinions), I have to come to the understanding that all notions of "cool" or "nice looking" in relations to clothes, makeup, etc. are socially constructed ideas; while – to some degree – still speculating for others, my own styles are very much based on the decade I grew up in as well as an interest in the 1920s. Really, that's it. There isn't some larger, more logical reason for it. And, while the lack of logic hurts my soul and I would swear up and down that tastes such as these can have some objective element to them (otherwise why else would I have such a seemingly instinctual response to certain styles‽), the only thing that makes any logical sense as to why tastes would reasonably form for people or why we do end up differing is that it is firmly subjective.

And, truly as a side note, that isn't to say that makeup didn't play a large part within the patriarchy. Or that certain tastes in types/styles of makeup aren't simply an unconscious outgrowth of demands as to what is considered legitimately pretty by the patriarchy. It simply means that such tastes can outgrow the patriarchy (and, more importantly, no one should be making assumptions as to why anyone decides they enjoy a particular style). After all, my own objection – were I into policing people – could easily be used as part of the patriarchy's formation of what it thinks women ought to be.

Of course, understanding all of this doesn't necessarily make it easy to implement (perhaps the reason its easy to reject physical attractiveness so wholesale for me is that I started following that reasoning as far back as the beginning of high school); as you cultivate a taste, you want to reject that which doesn't match it (perhaps another defense for my rejection of humoring physical attractiveness).

In any case – as I work through that moral dilemma –, the below article is fantastic and well illustrates what I'm outlining above. The original thing can be found here: http://tutusandtinyhats.wordpress.com/2012/11/01/fashion-policing-a-playground-of-oppression/.

 

 

 

The deeper I get into the fa(t)shion world, the more I come across examples of fashion judging and policing, even within spaces that are explicitly body-positive.

It pisses me off immensely. First, because one person’s style is no one’s business but their own. Period. Second, because it’s inextricably tied up with pretty much every prejudice under the sun: sexism, ableism, ageism, racism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, fatphobia…

Warning: epic rant ahead.

A few examples I’ve come across recently:

1.) Sal at Already Pretty did an interview with three women who dress within a defined aesthetic. I found it interesting, especially since I, like Sal, enjoy dabbling in many different styles. Some days I feel goth, other days pink bubblegum with a touch of fairy kei. Sometimes I just want to be Effie Trinket, or a flapper, or a slightly more sophisticated version of my seventh-grade self (Nirvana t-shirt and wide-leg jeans represent!). And my favorite outfits tend to involve combining multiple styles. So it’s cool to read about people who approach fashion differently.

But this statement, from Candice of Super Kawaii Mama, set my teeth on edge:

And the other thing that I feel very strongly about is raising the bar for the next generation. As a society we have never been so well off (historically) or had such ready and cheap access to good clothing and beauty options. We spend billions on advertising in these markets, spend our pay-checks on magazines of celebrities looking fantastic, and yet never as a nation have we been so poorly dressed / presented. It is a maddening irony and one that will only change if people are brave enough to challenge that status quo and raise that bar.

ARGHHHH NO. Just no.

I like glamour. I really do. But it’s only fun when it’s optional. Sometimes I don’t need or want to be glamorous–like when I’m on my way to go hiking, or sick, or dealing with shitty New England weather, or just in a yoga-pants-and-T-shirt-and-no-makeup mood. I don’t expect anyone else to prioritize glamour or any other aesthetic, or to justify their clothing choices to me.

And I certainly don’t define bravery as “dressing in a way that I like.” You want bravery? Try the NYU Hospital nurses who carried ICU infants down nine flights of stairs in the dark, manually providing them with air and ventilation.

If you find other people’s outfits “maddening,” that’s your problem, not theirs. No one has a responsibility to dress in a way that you like. And the very concept of “poorly dressed” is completely arbitrary. One person’s “eww” is another person’s “awesome.” One person’s clashing is another person’s oh my God your coat is so amazing, I almost want to go to England and steal it from you.

Also, just because we’re well-off overall as a society doesn’t mean we don’t have poverty. It doesn’t mean that everyone has access, financial or otherwise, to the clothing they would like to wear.

Especially if they wear plus sizes, and even more so if they wear a size above 22 or 24. Especially if they lack reliable transportation to stores that carry their size, or the money to pay for shipping. Especially if they have a disability that makes getting dressed difficult, or sensory issues that make certain fabrics uncomfortable. Especially if their weight has changed (for intentional reasons, or due to childbirth, aging, medications, post-diet rebound, health problems, stress, etc.), and they haven’t had the time or money to assemble a new wardrobe. Especially if they’re busy and overworked, or un(der)employed and searching for a job–both of which are currently huge problems in the US and many other countries–and don’t have the energy to put into caring about clothing. Or some combination of these things.

As just one example, if you saw me on the street today, you might think, “why is that lady wearing a lovely goth-meets-business-casual outfit with butt-ugly running sneakers?” I hate how these sneakers look too, believe me. But I’m wearing them because I have plantar fasciitis in my left foot, and sneakers are the only footwear that doesn’t exacerbate it. I can’t even wear cute sneakers, like Converses–my feet are both wide and flat, which makes finding shoes that fit nearly impossible. I take what I can get, regardless of whether they fit my style. And if people want to judge me for it, that’s their problem.

2.) I don’t normally read MSN Style, or other mainstream fashion sites/magazines/blogs. But I happened to come across this article somehow, and it’s a perfect example of everything I hate about fashion policing.

In the slideshow “8 Fashion Mistakes Men Make,” two fashion “experts” criticize various men’s outfits.

The female “expert” says: “Oh, I see. Those don’t just look like lady’s [sic] capris… they fit like them too. The cardigan, shades and even the black case are so sleek, but the pants need a do-over.”

Maybe they are womens’ capris. So what? Some male-bodied people like to wear women’s clothing. Maybe they’re transgender or genderqueer. Maybe they subscribe to Kate Bornstein‘s philosophy: “I think love, sex and gender are like Pokemon, and I want to catch ‘em all!” Or maybe they just like to wear dresses, like Michael of His Black Dress.

The male “expert” says: ”I’m sorry, but I could never take anyone seriously if they walked into a room wearing those pants.”

Fuck that noise.

I doubt it’s a coincidence that gay and transgender people face high rates of workplace discrimination and harassment. Contributing to a culture of gender-policing has real, harmful consequences.

3.) A while back, there was a Fatshionista thread about whether there are age cut-offs for cutesy accessories. The original poster mentioned that she will soon be working in museums, and I think it makes sense to tone down your look for work. But what you wear at work is one thing, and what you wear during your free time is another.

In comment thread, one person said:

If I saw something like this http://virtualneko.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/kawaii-girl1.gif on a person older than 15, I’d judge.

She went on to say:

In my opinion the key is not to look like someone who desperately tries to look way younger than he is.

I hate the assumption that wearing certain clothes or accessories means you’re trying to look younger. I don’t wear Hello Kitty stuff because I want to look younger–I wear it because I like it. I’ll probably still be wearing HK when I’m 80, and I’m ok with that. (Also, I’m kind of looking forward to the day when my hair turns gray/white, because I’ll finally be able to dye it pink without bleaching it first.)

If you like it, and enjoy wearing it, you’re not too old for it. Period.

The same commenter mentioned that she is a huge Dr. Who fan, but limits her fan needs to small pins, socks, and bookmarks. Which is her choice to make, but she’s missing out on some pretty awesome stuff–like the amazing TARDamask shirt one of my coworkers wore recently.

4.) I like Trystan’s blog, CorpGoth, where she writes about keeping a goth edge while dressing appropriately for an office job. So I was disappointed to find two posts in which she makes privileged pronouncements about how people should dress.

In one, she repeats the popular meme that leggings are not pants. Which is so tied up with judgment about women’s bodies–especially fat women’s bodies. With the belief that we need to hide our shapes. With disdain for one of the cheapest and most comfortable clothing options.

In another, she declares:

Let it be known that I am firmly in the camp with those who believe that the casualization of clothing in the U.S. in the late-20th & early-21st centuries is the first step to the downfall of our civilization & that wearing pajamas in public is a sure sign of the coming apocalypse.

I know it’s hyperbole. It’s still not funny.

I feel that people are allowed to wear PJs outside the home exactly three times in their lives: (1) once when you have the flu & need to make a trip to the drugstore for tissues & meds, (2) once when you’re miserably depressed & need chocolate &/or booze between the hours of 2am and 6am, & (3) one additional time to be used judiciously, carefully, not in broad daylight or among more than a dozen people, & it can only last for no more than 10 minutes.

Thanks for deciding what other people are “allowed” to wear. You do know that people have the right to wear whatever they want, right? And that there are a million factors that affect what people wear, and judging them for it is an assholey move?

I could rant more, but instead, here’s a picture of me wearing pajama pants.

I'd mentioned, once before, here that this is one of my all-time favorite movies though my brother found it far less impressive than I do. I was informed that apparently the link I had left here then to watch it might contain viruses. Here it is on YouTube, in the event anyone wants to see it. Really, it's quite a feel-good film (which, normally, I tend to hate) and really sweet.

note: there is one scene where one of the main characters starts to attempt suicide; to do so, she makes a cut on her wrist with a razor. I don't know if that might be found to be triggering so I'm mentioning it just in case

I generally hate finding out that I'm wrong but, occasionally, it's a pleasant surprise.

Sucker Punch, the film, looked like your average blockbuster fair from the previews (with a high dosage of male-fantasy fodder). But I don't generally trust a trailer so I was hopeful. Most reviews affirmed my intuitions.

Instead, the movie turned out, pleasantly, to be exactly what I expected (a stunning visual feast with outstanding camera work – and I'm generally someone who couldn't give a crap about the technical side of any art form) and entirely not what I expected (a usual blockbuster with a particularly more open and insidious male-lens).

In some ways, this was my experience with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (speaking of which, – after I had first seen it – I had intended to (though, clearly, had failed to get around to) gush to you, @XxbutterflyknivesXx, about it because I knew you were a fan (in part because you had done three or so posts mentioning it in a row around that time) and it had so escaped any expectations I had for it (which is part of why I was so pleasantly surprised; very few films truly surprise me now). Beforehand, I heard plenty of mention of it (the theater across the street from where I interned for the summer actually was showing it) but knew absolutely nothing about it; outside of just hearing the title, your occasional entries regarding it were all I knew about it (and the entries rarely made any sense to me since I knew absolutely nothing about the series)).

The production does a beautiful job highlighting the tone and narrative and, though I couldn't yet identify any for the life of me, it became quickly evident to me that the movie itself is rather ripe with symbolism (the English major in me was quite pleased).

It'll need a few more views to pass my usual high expectations for artwork (plus there's a shit-ton of stuff going on) but I was pleased and surprised. A lack of more development of the characters (they did get the usual blockbuster roles and development; i.e. near to none since the standard role you can infer should tell you all you need to know about the character and the difficulties they'll face in this action film) is the only complaint that comes to my head at the moment.

Hmm, I meant for this to be short and just to share. Oh well. TL;DR: Sucker Punch is a surprising cool and complex film.

"In The Goonies, when Mikey throws away his inhaler, we're supposed to understand that he's a stronger person for not needing it. What it's really showing is that Mikey is going to end up in the hospital if he doesn't get a replacement soon, because asthma is a goddamn medical condition."

"It's been literal seconds since anyone mentioned a penis. To hell with movies."

 

For those two quotes alone, you should read this Cracked.com article: http://www.cracked.com/article_20082_6-insane-stereotypes-that-movies-cant-seem-to-get-over.html. It's actually really a refreshing read and also hilarious.

Mother: Natasha, could you run up to my closet and get my sewing supplies?
Sister: Have Jonathan do it: I have homework.
Me: You know, Tash, I can't see why you can't just do it; going back into the closet is scary the first few times but you get used to it.
Sister: Wha…? That's not funny. I don't get i- OHHHHHH, I get it now! It's still not funny!
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Sister: So, there's this organization and they do can drives and the like every so often to help out. I want to participate but apparently you need to be 18. That's what I hate about being so young: there's all these things I want to do but can't.
Me: Like Heroin.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Sister: So, yeah, there's all these things they let you do, because it's such a big organization, which I really want to do.
Me: I'm fine with any of it so long as you remember protection.
Sister: …what? No, shush.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Reason I love my sister: she puts up with me.

It's long but all three parts relate so I'll keep them as one post.

------------------------------------------------------------------

*phone rings*
Mother: Jonathan?
Me: Yes?
Mother: It's 3 in the morning.
Me: Yes.
Mother: Why aren't you home yet? It's way too late for you to be out.
Me: Why?
Mother: Because it's 3 o'clock in the morning.

Nothing gets by her, let me tell you. The next morning:

Father: It's completely unacceptable that you would stay out that late. [I am still, at this point, wondering why]
Mother: You're not a teenager anymore [as if I was allowed to stay out as a teenager under their arbitrary rules]; you have to wake up the next morning.
Me: …today's a Sunday [and I already had attended Sunday Vigil yesterday].
Mother: And? [for the record, I woke up at 2 today, vacuumed the kitchen and family room and tidied up my room in the span of 2 to 3 hours; I'm now on my computer. If only I had waken up earlier to get it all done!]
Father: Your clothes are on the ground; they should have been put away when you got back home [I was under the impression that a world crisis had occurred, based on their demeanor, because of how terribly late I got home last night; in my mind, getting to bed as soon as possibly was the life-saving choice to make. However, as per usual, if things aren't done in the exact order my father expects, it's apparently a lack of ambition. Never-mind that there's absolutely no difference between putting them away when I wake up or when I get home other than when I end up putting them away].
Mother: Also, you used all of my gas [I used about an eighth of a tank]. You didn't put any gas into my car afterwards, did you?
Me: No, because I don't have any money. I told you where I was going; you've been there a multitude of times; you know how much gas that takes. If that bothered you, you should have told me no and I wouldn't have gone.

The one moment of sense in this bizarre melodrama is when my mother notes that the nice thing to do would have been calling to say that I wasn't going to be home later that night. Fair; I'd be willing to oblige, though still not necessary. To use her example of why this was oh so pertinent (were I to get into some sort of accident), the police would have called their house. If you're not getting a call, I'm fine. Now stop trying to mask the fact that you can't control every aspect of my life (I can't stop myself from laughing every time my mother tells me I'm not allowed to drink, as if the first thing I've ever run to to make a decision has ever been based around whether she'd "allow" me or not).

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Father: Do you want another grilled cheese?
Me: Sure, if you're making them.
Father: What? No, it's a yes or no question: yes or no? I'm making more only if you want more.
Me: *irritable* Yes, if you're making more.

I have a habit of asking what seems like really naïve questions; even if something seems really obvious, I'll often ask again or specifically repeat, audibly, back to the instructor the steps of the (sort of obvious) task, just to be sure I have it right. In correspondence with instances like these (though not only entailed to), I often say, "I assume nothing." The larger meaning is owning up to the danger of assumption (and, in turn, the inherent ignorance we often don't expect to find in ourselves, even on accident). It's also a gracious way not to offend people, in my mind; I refuse to even be suspicious of them.

The root of this habit (I have little doubt) stems from my father. Never one to be good at communicating, he often would assume that you'd know certain things; combined with his low patience, you were never really quite certain what to do right to avoid being yelled at.

So I got into the habit of making certain of everything: I assumed nothing and asked any question I could think of to be certain I understood what he wanted. While his point seems obvious, I'm certain there've been times in the past where he's said, to some request or question from me or my siblings regarding any food, "Well, I'm done cooking, so that's not going to happen."

Under that understanding, my statement seems perfectly reasonable. Removed from that understanding, my statement is still not unreasonable; redundant, perhaps, but not difficult to figure out (humor my idiosyncrasies).

However, this – apparently – is too much for my father to figure out. My mother, like myself, often includes extra information; I'd argue that both my parents and I all prefer explaining things in the form of stories (don't give us the general idea, give us examples; we'll figure it out from there) but my mother and I use this to include other information. Example? My father is wondering how much it will cost to get my sister's dog's hair cut. My mother tells him that the old hair cutter had cost 40 dollars and one of our neighbors, who had recommended the new hair cutter, said it should cost the same amount.

My father pauses before going, "Oh, so $40; why didn't you just say that?"

My first reaction is that you get the answer either way. That aside, you now know a possible average amount for such a job. You know who gave you the new hair cutter should you want to make small talk with the neighbors (seeing as my dad seems incapable of ever shutting up, I would think he'd value that information).

I guess, likewise, my response was too confusing for his brain to parse.

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The doorbell is ringing; my sister's crazy dog, like always, thinks the house is under attack and is barking his head off. My father tells him to move away from the door (I forget if he made hand motions, seeing as the dog wouldn't understand the command "Move away from the door"; I don't think he tried very hard, if he did). The dog, not understanding and being far more involved in the more interesting events occurring just outside the door, keeps barking at the door. My father, with one more bark of "Move!", pushes the dog across the tile floor out of the way; he slides smack into the wall about a yard away. I pick him up and carry him to another room to avoid him running to the door yet again (he's a persistent one). As I head back to the front door, I hear my father mutter, "I hate that dog; he never listens."

My father, for a while (I think he's become less vocal about it but no less believing), perceives me to be very selfish and self-concerned in some areas. A lot of this, I would argue, is my firm belief that the best means of dealing with people is allowing individuals to make choices regarding themselves with no restraint so long as their choices do not harm anyone else.

Unable to perceive this, (like the individual who finds those who call for tolerance to be hypocritical because those people oppose zir attempts to ban gay marriage for everyone) he was often puzzled and irritated by my habit, when I was younger, to call him and my mother out on making comments about other people. Or, for another example, getting angry at them telling me to eat healthier.

In his mind, I was pushing my world view on him; this is hardly the case. Rather, I had no qualms about him trying to be healthy or even making disparaging comments about his own weight or loss of hair: perfectly fine. It was his utter inability to restrict these thoughts to himself that bothered me.

So, I'm the selfish one. Okay. But, I would make the argument that, even beyond the obvious generosity of autonomy, this system goes even further in opposition to selfishness. You see (to use the theme I've touched a bit on here already), this system is once again in acknowledgement of our ignorance.

I was part of a panel back in college one time that was touching on religion. I remember it was part of the Encountering Religion series, though I can't remember the particular focus this time around. Someone in the crowd asked, "In dealing with religion, we're seeking Truth and answers. There can only be one answer so don't you owe it to help others see the Answer?" Ahh, the old Evangelist approach.

I wish I had responded but I didn't. In any case, the reason why going out and killing all the heretics and infidels is wrong (other than the fact that most religions include something about not killing and it's really just common sense) is that you can't be so certain that you are correct. I've said before, any person who wants to stand and tell me that there is, without a doubt, absolutely no chance there is no god(s) or absolutely no chance there is a god(s) has lost all intellectual merit in my eyes.

To move out of that supernatural lens, a simple reading of this xanga will make evident that my thoughts and beliefs have most certainly changed over the years. Myself in middle school would have been horrified that I'd become so accepting of gay rights (let alone help further the cause in any range of organizations).

So we allow the individual as much autonomy as possible because, at the end of the day, the person who will know what's best for you the most amount of times is you. Sure, there will be times where someone knows what's best for you or what's right and you don't know. But in my system, you have the option of asking for and refusing help. In my father's, you don't have a choice. Further, everyone is responsible for themselves under this rule. Under the other, we must seek a system of justice, etc. when someone pressures you because they figured they knew better and then screw things up. If you screw things up, it's just you who pays for it.

So does that make my father's system selfish?

In terms of results, yes but that's simplifying it. It's not that he wants control, per se. It's that, in his mind, he's figured things out and (rather than verifying such findings) must put them into action.

A good example of this is actually something that happened with my brother. We were stopping by the house before heading to, I think, a swim meet for my sister. I went in and grabbed myself some chips. As I headed back, my brother asks (expectantly), "Did you get me any?"

The answer is no.

And here is why: in an individualous system, I don't have to get you chips. Would it be nice if I did? Certainly. Had I thought of it or my brother had asked before I went in, I would have happily done so. But, as I said, autonomy in self until the point of harming someone else. My brother won't die from not getting chips; he has no right to expecting anything of the sort from me. Indeed, no one owes you anything (so long as not giving it to you would not harm or restrict you); this, in turn, makes charitable acts all the more charitable. Under my father's system, you are owed those kind works.

But that sounds harsh, doesn't it? It's a little too abstract. Here's why he can't expect anything from me. Like I said, the thought hadn't crossed my mind. Further, I could have been in a hurry. Or maybe I, accidentally, remembered him not liking the chips.

For him (and my father), remembering to get someone something is a nice gesture. Thus, everyone must be expected to do it. Much like the illustration I gave 7 paragraphs ago, his system demands I must get him chips. Mine offers the choice. It also has this nice, built-in, fail-safe that allows for there to be a vast variety of reasons (that my brother may be unaware of) as to why I may not have gotten him the chips. In this instance, I simply forgot.

Further, I find more consistency in mine. I have a habit of waving to every person in our neighborhood; I like to be friendly and I like people so it makes sense to me. One time, after waving, my brother asks why. I give the same explanation. He, somewhat grouchily, responds (paraphrased), "I'm not going to wave just because someone expects that of me." Now, this is confusing to me; no one expects you to wave. He makes it seem like some irritating obligation. In his understanding of what you should and should not do, there's no reason for him to wave; in mine, that's the nice thing to do (indeed, I think my father would chastise him and say he ought to wave, were he a few years younger, because my father appreciates friendliness as a virtue). My system offers him the choice not to. There could be a vast variety of reasons why he might not (I certainly don't know it). But he doesn't owe anyone a wave.

This is the core reason my father expects obedience. In his mind, he's already figured it all out (I imagine the mountain of times I've shown him wrong or convinced him otherwise are just minor exceptions). So listen and do it his way already.

The dog wasn't hurt; indeed, we, as humans, did a damn good job of breeding those things because it really is just astonishing how forgiving and friendly their natures are. No, but it looked like it hurt. I dunno; if I had done something like that, I'd've immediately picked him up to let him know if was a mistake (forget the door for that moment). It was the way that it didn't even matter to my father that he'd basically pushed the dog into a wall (because God forbid something not obey his command) with thoroughly no concern for his well-being afterwards.

 

**note: I should take the moment to note that I'm not perfect. I make mistakes and I can't remember if I always own up to them. I know, when I start feeling more comfortable with my surroundings, I'll say things in my usual disparaging humor and forget to make certain people understand I'm not even remotely serious. I'd like to think that I'm open enough about my concern for others and my willingness to admit when I'm wrong or make mistakes (which, just as there may be evidence for the opposite, there certainly is evidence for). At least I hope.

This is What a Feminist Looks Like

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