Attractive Absurdities: Women's Right to Choose and Women in Combat

In a previous post I discussed the false antagonism between conservatives and feminists, as portrayed by the media.

Although I do consider myself a feminist and support many feminist projects, there are some prominent threads of feminist rhetoric emphasized as main tenants of feminism in pop culture that I find repulsive--namely, women's right to choose and women in combat. 

Flesh of My Flesh

The woman has no "right to choose". And even if she were to choose, it would be the father's right, too (the baby has, after all, half his DNA). The "right to choose" is accompanied by another mantra:  a "woman's right to control her own body", and both of these have enjoyed considerable traction on college campuses and Democratic rallies because it appears to uphold a human right, even making that right seem obviously timeless and universal. It's taken as given. This assertion ironically denies a human right instead of upholds one, and it is an abysmal excuse for a supposed reason why women should be able to "terminate their pregnancies".

 It is critical that everyone understand why this is a fallacy, since this reason is at the root of all pro-life arguments:

It is not her own body over which she is trying to exert her control. It is another body with a unique genetic code, a separate being that in his or her current state is completely dependent on the woman for nourishment and safety.

Here's an analogy: if a friend of yours falls on hard times and has absolutely no where else to go, and is therefore residing in your house, is that person a part of your house? Is that person expendable and controllable property, as is your house, or any of your other possessions? A general truism in American law is that your own body is your own property, just like your house. You own it. However, not since the abolition of slavery has any American had the right to own another human being. Mothers have custody of their children, including the unborn, but this concept is distinct from property. Children have certain rights that come with their own bodies, among them, the right to live. The fact that a child is literally inside her mother for several months does not grant that mother power to decide if he lives or dies.

Don't Fight for Your Right...to Fight

Here's why I think putting women in combat is an absurd idea: Given that women are generally anatomically weaker and smaller than men, women do not have an equal chance to survive as men do. Women have less upper body strength than men, and do not build and maintain muscle as easily as men. Combat troops have a lot to carry, and the time may come when they have to carry one of their teammates. I know the idea of women in combat sounds like a fantastic step toward gender equality, but it  endangers not only the women, but the men on her team, in combat. By putting her own life at undue risk, she also increases the the risk posed to her teammates, who may have to aid her or slow down to allow her to catch up. And that is not fairness.

This is an exemplary controversy in illustrating the misrepresentation of the opposition to this policy. "Conservatives" may not (probably don't) oppose it because they are sexist and think women are inherently inferior and should not ever pick up a gun. Rather, opposition comes from a rational and obvious conclusion that women do not have an equal chance to survive. They may not be concerned with maintaining male exclusivity and power, or pushing women back into a domestic role, but with the safety of all combat troops.

We want all our troops to come home safe, and one of the ways to help ensure this is to ensure to the best of our ability that those who are not 100% qualified to enter direct combat do not end up there.

My Experience with the World's Most Obscure Competition: Bible Quizzing

Bible Quizzing as an activity floats somewhere between being a "real sport", like baseball and football, and being a "nerd sport", like spelling bees, debate team, and math quiz bowls. As an individual wedged for life in odd cracks and crevices among more defined and easily identifiable things, I doubt it's mere coincidence that I "jumped" (pun intended) into the obscurity of "church sport" (i.e. Bible Quizzing). The best quizzers always jump on instinct.

At risk of sounding phobic of nerd sports, let me explain why Bible Quizzing is not this--it's important, trust me. Bible Quizzing requires not an insignificant amount of physical activity (and dare I say prowess?)--that is, involving more than your hands pressing a button or gesturing to an audience. Actually, it involves your calves, quads, and buttocks. Very significant muscles, as we all know.

At risk of sounding superior to real sports, Bible Quizzing involves a good deal of strenuous mental activity. I don't care how many plays are in your book, you football players are definitely not on our level. Your whole playbook memorized cover to cover is still a pitiful accomplishment compared to the top quizzers' recitation of Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, and Collossians in one sitting (or should I say, pacing).

Been there, done that.

Word.
Word of God, actually.

The "thinking stance"--Internationals 2008

Part of what makes Bible Quizzing appealing, at least to me, is this peculiar combination of physical and mental ability. To be a great quizzer, you can't have one without the other. I wanted to be a great quizzer, and by logging hundreds of hours memorizing, pacing back and forth across my cold bedroom floor with a tattered quiz book hanging from my fingers, in conjunction with weekly sets of practice questions (and some "list-making"--that really does put me into nerd territory, I'll admit)*, I became a pretty good quizzer. I can name a couple dozen other quizzers from my district who were better, but I did pretty well.

Another appeal is the ability to, well, appeal. In BQ it's called "challenging"--when a team captain believes that the quizmaster has ruled incorrectly, he simply stands up and says, "I'd like to challenge", and he presents his case based on his knowledge of the text and the rulebook.*

I made a lot of challenges, and I had a pretty low rejection rate. There's something really gratifying about instantly reacting in protest, just hopping to your feet and having an immediate and simple process for considering your objections. Rulings generally take less than five minutes, and when your challenge is accepted, it inspires a sort of thrilling satisfaction I never got from anything else--A+s didn't even come close.

Lastly, BQ was an attractive environment for someone who for most of her teenage years was rather anti-

Chilling with: 2 Canadians and 1 Texan

social, but who preferred the company she did keep to be of kids two or three years older. From my own experience, BQ has been surprisingly un-cliquish, possibly due to the wide age range of 6th to 12th grade, and the consequent variety within each church and each team. The great diversity of ages (and backgrounds, since a much higher proportion were homeschooled compared to the general population), as well as the encouragement from coaches and captains to reach out to people they wouldn't otherwise hang out with, kept me from feeling excluded, even when I didn't feel like actively "belonging" to any group in particular.*

Loitering Quizzer-style

I believe part of what keeps the social particles from agglutinating and congealing is the even playing field. It doesn't matter if you're 12 or 18, you all play together, against each other, and have an equal opportunity to succeed and win. There's no Little League or Varsity team. Just you, your team, and your ability. It was for me a precious simplicity and fairness I didn't, and still don't, see in any other activity. It seems so simple and right that you should be judged solely on your talent, skills, and reasoning, yet the phenomena is surprisingly rare. As someone near the end of a lengthy stint of employment as a job hunter, I feel I know this all too well.

In short, Bible Quizzing presented a world that I fit into, and it into me, incredibly well. Now that I'm 20 and a college grad, looking back on high-school and middle-school, I see that most of my best and clearest memories were from Quizzing. I like being stuck in the mismatched middle ground, and Quizzing was just quirky enough and just serious enough to become a passion of mine for almost five years of my teenage life.


*Once you've memorized something pretty well, but you want to recall it word-for-word in the most intimate fashion, you must recruit an unfortunate younger sibling to read through your scribbles and high-lighting and crinkled pages as you recite the material for a general maximum of 30 minutes. This practice became known in my family as "quiz-30". It went as such:
 "Hey Poofy, guess what time it is?"
"No! No, it is not quiz-30!"
"It definitely is."
"FINE!"
 *There was one quizzer, from way back in the day, that is still humorously remembered for addressing the quizmaster as "Your Honor".
*Qualifying and attending select meets like Great West Invitationals and Internationals basically douses you in social lubricant. Squished between a junior and a senior in the middle row of a crowded van, you kind of get to know people. And you make lasting memories, whether you wanted to or not.

Are You Talking About Me Behind In Front of My Back?

Dear Class of 2013,

Almost none of you will hear what I have to say here, but I just wanted to let you know that I heard you...all week long, all month, for six quarters. But you probably didn't even realize I was there, did you?

I beg your pardon, fellow students in this esteemed institution of higher learning. For six quarters I heard you endlessly complaining about the treatment of this minority and that minority; I heard you rail self-righteously against the White Man and the military; I heard you blame nearly every flaw of modern humanity on capitalism and corporations (which apparently are "people"); I heard your fits of indignation when education funding is cut, and while speaking out  the other side of your mouth, I heard resentment and constant snubs at those who, despite the stereotyping and the blatant ignorance and the prejudice against all things Christian, ironically deny the representation and the voice of certain minorities.
 But I can rest assured, even after the Hispanic population becomes the majority in the U.S., you will tirelessly defend their rights as an oppressed minority, while you consistently deny any rights to the unborn, the unseen, the unprotected. Dear class of 2013, I know you will not defend me either. At least not for a long while.

In other words, you are talking behind in front of my back. My mother used to say this all the time--it's an old idiom, freshly painted with irony and thrown out in good humor to let us all know when we are stepping in to represent her with a "she'll just say" here, or a "she won't" there, leaving her no room to represent herself. But this clever turn of phrase is also an apt description for what happens in the classroom of the typical university, and, I imagine, in most public schools. Ironically I can't tell you for sure, because I am that irritating minority that just didn't go to school.

Did you really not see me there? Are the currents of power and dominance so strong that no fish can

  possibly swim against them? Yet seemingly suspended beneath the reflective, rippling surface of the river, a few of us still try to do that. Perhaps it is because our movement is so restricted in this direction that you cannot notice us there with you, in the row behind you, inthe corner, even front and center--although you might cast your net over Red Square to drag in the braver ones who make little leaps forward above the water.

I am a tired fish. For six quarters I beat my tail against the current, my little thought bubbles promptly swept away from my mouth unnoticed. Feeling entirely able to articulate my opinions, yet deprived of voice, there in the corner. Even when I wasn't in the corner, I felt like I was. To all you grad students, I might as well have been a housefly, a mere nuisance buzzing around your heads, or a biting mosquito who does little more than make you scratch the back of your neck.

Classmates of '13, I am a tired fish. I leave the university feeling like I've made very little impact on anybody there. Zero progress. Of course, I can't blame it all on the current. Perhaps I could have done more, I could have fought harder and made those brave leaps. I felt like I was swimming alone though; I belonged to no organization, no support group, and I had precious few classmates who would ever be willing to back me up. In my discipline of Anthropology it was particularly hard. Anthropologists are an irreligious bunch, all urgently seeking to rectify the atrocities of the field's colonial past. It's not that I disagree with this goal, or that their irreligiosity disturbs me, but rather these facts tend to fill the whole disciplinary view, obscuring many ideas and institutions that have a major impact on millions of people, but nevertheless are too uncomfortable and too close to home to really treat with any serious critical thinking--in the anthropology of Christianity (a minuscule sub-field, and possibly my future career), we call it the "familiar Other". Christianity, as with alternative educational backgrounds such as homeschooling, is ignored by most anthropologists because it so rubs against the ideological grain, and, so they claim, it's "such a part of our culture", that why should we bother with it?

So, fellow consumers in the so-called "marketplace of ideas", you can see that given the prevailing disciplinary attitude toward my upbringing and values, actually having to hear about them in class, first-hand, and take unwelcome criticism about ideas seen as given and true, would be rather uncomfortable.

Please, don't even speak to me about being uncomfortable. Although in many ways beneficial, I have been pushed so far out of my comfort zone that I nearly fell off the periphery. I clung to cliffs of overlapping belief, my only sure footing where I took shelter from avalanches and the talons of predatory birds. But of course, if I actually said what made me so squeamish, I would be castigated. So, fellow graduates, I will mercifully spare you, and give you the accommodation that I never received.

There is no middle ground between accommodation and discrimination, as I've recently realized through some Supreme Court cases. This is true in every institution, even those that champion freedom of conscience, radical ideas, and expression. It is indisputable that if one is not granted sufficient ideological freedom to express their beliefs, they are denied self-representation--that precious right of the individual that those who swim with the current take for granted.

They say that the first step toward change (that concept that the University of Washington is so enamored with) is acknowledging that there is a problem.

Dear class of 2013, we have a problem. We have a crisis of representation generated by the long-standing mechanisms of discrimination and relations of power, in some departments more than others. When you've gone out and experienced life outside of academia, and you've gained some perspective from a marketplace that is much freer, come back and fix it. I will be there, waiting.


Addressing You Directly,
                 G. B. Boorman

Beer and Pancakes: What Most Professors Don't Know about Me

     

     I generally steer clear of self-commentary, especially given the writing dictations of my particular field--after all, we can’t have everyone spilling themselves like maple syrup into half-fried thoughts on social issues.You get a pancake that's all sweetness and no substance. It just falls apart when you poke it.

       When someone asks you about your background, what do you say? I try to avoid heavily connoted words like “homeschooler” or “conservative.” These end up blocking any further understanding of my identity, as the inquirer drives along road blocks, not looking for a way around, but just to see how far the barrier goes and if it gets any taller.

        So what other words do I have? Do I tell them I’m “alternatively educated” (a term actually found in some county educational paperwork), and that I’m individualistic and hold “traditional values”? The first term is an obvious euphemism, and the others are still more empty clichés than descriptions. Actually, (I hope this doesn’t make me a frustrating personality) I’ve found that unusual statements like “I didn’t go to school until I was sixteen” or “I wouldn’t know; I’ve never been to high school” prick curiosity, and suddenly they’re more easily guided down a more narrow path to identity. Of course, they can’t resist detours into questions like “did you do school in your pajamas?” and, “so how did you get any friends?” or even, “So, like, your mom was your teacher?” to which I politely respond “no, I got dressed like any other kid; I belonged to a co-op as well as a church, and I Bible-quizzed, so I got to meet people from around the state, and I rode horses (with other people); no, not since I was in like 5th grade. I pretty much taught myself what I didn’t
learn at co-op.”

       Of course, the biggest ditch is the religious affiliation. Church. Bible. These words are somehow louder than the rest of my explanation. (Actually, my roommate, whom I am quite fond of, asked me concernedly if I was homophobic, because, she explains, she has gay friends. I was slightly offended, and said Christianity is about loving people, not condemning them.) “Oh, so you’re like, a Christian?” They ask as if it’s already affirmed. I half-smile. “Yep,” I reply, although I have to admit that sometimes I feel reluctance as almost palpable in my throat, particularly at the University. There seems to be this idea permeating nearly every mind on campus that if you’re a Christian, you’re a whole bunch of other (negative) things, too. I can almost see connections forming through their eyes, just before they say something to the extent of, “Oh, so that’s why you were homeschooled?” I let out a slight sigh; I generally don’t want to launch into this discussion, especially if I’m on my way to class or work. Or I’m really hungry.

       But of course, I usually bite anyway, “No,” I reply hesitantly, shifting my backpack, “my parents decided that homeschooling was the best way to let us learn how to think for ourselves and be responsible for our own learning; how to think, not what to think. Plus it allowed me to spend more time with my parents, and to work at my own pace,” I say, but then tag on hastily, “No, I don’t regret being homeschooled. It was awesome, and hey, I think I turned out pretty well.” I bow my head a little, as if evaluating myself from toe to head, from my “normal” shoes (not rubber boots or 90s tennis shoes) to my “normal” (not jean skirt and baggy shirt) clothes, to my “normal” (not long enough to sit on) hair. Bravely, I make sure my left hand is visible, with that suspiciously sparkly band on my ring finger.

       Eyebrows are raised, even if maybe I’m just imagining it. This visual seems acceptable, although still, in the mind, a not fully process-able walking contradiction. I inform them that I was a Running Start student, so that was kind of like junior and senior year of high school—a desperate attempt to relate, I know.

       Unfortunately, the other lane of the road to identity isn’t much better. A Christian friend of my father-in-law asks my major; I tell him Anthropology; he promptly asks if that isn’t the study of how we came from monkeys. I curtly reply that I’m not in biological anthropology, but sociocultural. Monkeys usually don’t enter the discussion.

       It almost goes without saying that gay rights and creation vs. evolution are the two most irksome and redundant conversations for a walking contradiction like me. It seems like the questions press in from all sides, even if only indirectly to my particular public, as rhetorical “gotcha” questions reaching out from the screen to grab me by the ears. The mainstream media is sure to turn my hair gray. I have my own (I call it nuanced, others may call it flaking) opinions and approaches to the discussions, which I usually confine to the living room setting after dinner, preferably very late, and with beer. And maybe some pancakes.

       You might find a few of these candid commentaries on my blog; ironically, it's the most public medium in which I've written. I sincerely hope this candor does more to draw people into discussion than it does to turn them away in disapproval. Most professors never know about me, personally, for a reason--I hope here in cyberspace that that reason is not quite so prevalent, and that people enjoy hearty pancakes that aren't quite so syrupy sweet.

This is How We Write a Title: A real title, since the preceding title doesn't make sense

ABSTRACT: 

As some of you may know, I will graduate the University of Washington in March with a B.A. in Cultural Anthropology, and some years from now I plan to get a Ph.D. in it. The heading of this post pokes fun at myself and other anthropologists: this is almost always how we title our papers, and in a way speaks to the characterization of anthropology itself. Anthropology is the study of mankind in all times and places, and it is the biggest part of my current studies. It consumes obscene amounts of my intellectual energy. Now to the meat of the matter. Being an anthropologist in the Social Science community is like being the Dr. Who nerd at a Star Trek convention. It's all sci-fi, but somehow you don't quite fit in with the rest of the group. I love being the Dr. Who nerd--not to denigrate the Trekkies, the Star Wars geeks, or the StarGate fans. It has occurred to me on more than one occasion that my choice in academic studies is ironic, and fitting... Certain connections can be drawn from anthropology and some aspects of my person...As someone who in many respects doesn't "fit in" quite as well as I could, I'm now normalized in the one Department that also doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the group. Today in class (Religion and World Politics with Professor Gill--I highly recommend it) anthropology was mischaracterized and criticized once again. I just laughed and shook my head; Isn't it just like an anthropologist to be misunderstood, I thought, when all we're trying to do is understand how these misrepresentations come about in the first place.

As some of you may know, I will graduate the University of Washington in March with a B.A. in Cultural Anthropology, and some years from now I plan to get a Ph.D. in it. Some of you other people might have just come back to my page after a Google search for the definition of anthropology, and are now even more confused.

The heading of this post pokes fun at myself and other anthropologists: this is almost always how we title our papers, and in a way speaks to the characterization of anthropology itself. My very first anthropology instructor, Dr. Fortenbery, offered a short and very broad definition, which is the only one (there are more than one, all hotly contested) that I'll give out as an explanation to those outside the discipline. Anthropology is the study of mankind in all times and places. This is perhaps the one definition that's so broad that no "armchair academic" can possibly criticize it. Ironically, anthropological discourse is admirable for its incredible specificity and nuance of definition and attention to detail: we don't write thesis sentences, we write thesis paragraphs. Perhaps I will discuss other definitions of anthropology in later posts, but here I want to talk about something clearly more interesting and important:

Me. Specifically in relation to my field of study. I'm only half-joking when I say this is more interesting and important; anthropology is the biggest part of my current studies, and consumes obscene amounts of my intellectual energy. It is the most common lens through which I photograph the world, or to use another metaphor, my favorite pen for writing out my observations. Naturally, this blog has an anthropological tone to much of its content, although it is not by any means a field journal or collection of academic papers. (I'm a person, too, and I have a personal opinion and attitude for pretty much everything. It will be clear when I transition between analytic and evaluative commentary.)

Now to the meat of the matter. Being an anthropologist in the Social Science community is like being the Dr. Who nerd at a Star Trek convention. It's all sci-fi, but somehow you don't quite fit in with the rest of the group. Like the Doctor, Anthropology has been reincarnated many times (and yet somehow its death is always foretold), and like anthropologists, the Doctor is curious and open-minded about all mankind (or I suppose in this case, sentient-kind) in all times and places, in all social situations. He's often content to observe. He often muses philosophically. He has no real home, and he is a loner. So it is with my beloved discipline.

I love being the Dr. Who nerd--not to denigrate the Trekkies, the Star Wars geeks, or the StarGate fans. Well, to be honest my relationship to Star Wars is quite analogous to my relationship to the "rival" discipline of Sociology. Like Star Wars, I think Sociology is overrated and over-cited in pop culture--"heroes" of Sociology litter every social science magazine, and the newspapers and cable shows, too. You can find as many sociologists in pop literature as you can Han Solo on lunchboxes. And like the cult-epic space story, it has ideological underpinnings which, as a social scientist who tries to look at things as objectively as possible, really really annoys me.

It has occurred to me on more than one occasion that my choice in academic studies is ironic, and fitting. Certain connections can be drawn from anthropology and some aspects of my person: I'm left-handed, so the conventional scissors (conventional social science, you might say) never really fit properly, and I've always had trouble finding a spot at the dinner table where I wouldn't accidentally elbow somebody in the ribs or knock their glass over. As a Christian and (mostly) a conservative, I am a minority as well. One time when I was little I wrote an illustrated children's book about feet. And so, as someone who in many respects doesn't "fit in" quite as well as I could, I'm now normalized in the one Department that also doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the group. Eager in its consumption of knowledge and somewhat excessive in its nonverbal communication, it elbows people at the table and knocks their glasses over. Without pause, it may then gesture to the fascinating pattern the wine has made on the tablecloth.

Today in class (Religion and World Politics with Professor Gill--I highly recommend it) anthropology was mischaracterized and criticized once again---it was the most egregious of insults---to have a certain idea about culture (a poor one, of course) mistakenly assigned to anthropology instead of sociology, the real culprit. I just laughed and shook my head; I didn't even bring the issue to the professor after class. Isn't it just like an anthropologist to be misunderstood, I thought, when all we're trying to do is understand how these misrepresentations come about in the first place.


~Georgi Boorman