Friday, August 01, 2014, Buttes-Chaumont Parc, Paris, France.



Why do I need feminism? We all have our reasons. We all have our stories. Let me tell you about my day:



I was sitting on a hill in the grass at Buttes-Chaumont park, a lovely historical area in Paris. I wanted to be relatively by myself so I could write in peace and smoke without drawing attention to myself. I’m sitting, book in my lap, a pen and cig between my fingers, when I am approached by a man. My main concern was determining whether or not he was the po-lice, but he had no characteristics of cops. He appeared emotionally stable and had good hygiene so I wasn’t too uncertain, (isn’t it kind of bad how we judge people on that stuff?), still, I wondered what he wanted, dreading having to talk to someone when I was merely trying to write in peace. I figured he was going to ask me for something to smoke.



He didn’t. Instead, he asked if he could sit by me. I look around and scan all the other vacant spaces he could sit instead, making it obvious that there was plenty of room to sit instead of right the **** next to me. It’s a pretty big park. “Si ca ta derange pas?” I wasn’t planning on staying long anyway, but I knew he wouldn’t be dangerous as there were many families and couples and runners and walkers, old friends and young kids playing. I felt safe enough, and he seemed harmless. I figured if anything, I could practice my French, which was always nice.



I said okay. He sat, and for a moment we sat in silence. I made myself a sandwich with baguette and cheese and offered him some. He politely declined. We started talking.



I asked if he was Parisian, and he told me he lived there for a while but was from Afrique. I didn’t catch which country, but I don’t think he specified which region. He asked about me, and I told him I was American, born in DC, but I came to France every so often and it was my first language. We talked about travel. We talked about the chaos in the Middle East, and how it was prophesized in scripture. He told me he was Muslim. I told him I wasn’t religious.



I told him I acknowledged the importance of texts, but I believe our ability to think has evolved in 2000 years and we have more information now than we did then. I told him there was too much life and I could not fit it all into one magic being which sprinkled glitter and said “Let there be” and we were created. I told him I really liked the Asian philosophies of Buddhism and Daoism. We talked about peace. We talked about Human Rights and the beauty of diversity, and how marvelous it was people could live among another in peace.



I said it was cool, and I even said it was cool that even as a black man in Europe and an Arab-American woman, we could talk freely without hostility and social division. We talked about closed-mindedness and Conservativism. I explained cognitive dissonance contributing to conflict, generated by opposing views and resistance/reluctance to consider new ideas. We talked about Psychology. I told him I was a writer and I told him about Cabaret Populaire in Belleville and the poetry community in Paris. I told him I love Paris. We talked again about travel.



He told me he was in Germany last weekend, and I told him I was in Langen Tuesday night. He told me he always wanted to go to the U.S.A. We talked about immigration. We talked about the American Dream. We talked about money. I told him I was proposed to the last time I was in Lebanon. We talked about reasons people marry. I reminded him today was the first of August, which meant I’d been with my boyfriend for two months. We talked about love. We talked about monogamy, polyamory and infidelity. We talked about Islam. We talked about racism.



We were sitting there talking for an hour or so, which I was especially grateful for, because besides having an interesting conversation I was able to speak in French for all of it, as he did not speak English (apparently he spoke German, though). I stood up to leave and told him “Enchanté,” but before I started walking off he motioned for me to look at his phone. I was wondering if he was trying to add me on Facebook or follow me on Instagram or something, but I am instead confronted by a picture on his screen of him laying on his back on a bed, with an ***** ***** as the focal point.



Furious, I asked him “Pourquoi tu ma montre ca?! J’ai pas demande a voir ca!”



The stupid smile on his face disappeared and was replaced by a look of slight hurt, confusion, and surprise.

“Bordelle! C’est dommage—mais c’est ca—des hommes et femmes ne peuvent pas parler normalment, vraiment!”



And for the vile words I wanted to spout, I scoffed instead, too much of a lady to shout or get emotional, but I made sure to call him out and stand my ground, exuding negative energy and making it clear with my few words that that was not okay.



I gave no impression of interest in seeing his ****, so why did he do that? Even if he thought I might want to (hell never) he should have heard me ask or vocally say “yes, you can do that.” However, I did not ask; there were no prompts, hints, innuendos or even suggestive, flirty phrasing that would serve as an indication of ****** interest on my behalf.



I don’t want to be cynical and assume all guys are perverts and avoid any conversation because I’m not a rude person (generally). I’m not sexist. I value conversations and friendships with people without emphasis of gender importance. I try not to assume that everyone is sketchy or has ****** up motives. Some people just want to talk.



I wasn’t going to blatantly ignore or dismiss him because he was a man, nor because he was black, foreign, or Muslim. But where the hell is he from that he was socialized and thought that was appropriate or wanted?

I did not ask. The worst part is that he seemed like a genuinely alright person, but then he had to ruin it by whipping out a **** pic. Gross. What’s even more gross is the sense of entitlement he had, thinking it was acceptable to do that. You are a stranger. And I don’t want to see your ******, you disgusting *******.



I really don’t like assuming **** about people or making generalizations. I’m not going to assimilate one ****** with every group they are assigned to and stereotype against every person of that respective group. But fuckkkk. It’s annoying and disappointing that what I thought was a pleasant talk and exchange of ideas with a friendly stranger was actually a plot to show me his ****. ****.



The moral of this story is to say why feminism is needed, because this happens to people every day. If you still need further assistance understanding, please allow me to elaborate:



1)      I need feminism because it allows me to stand up for myself and feel confident about stating that I’m uncomfortable with unwanted behaviors and I’m not going to tolerate them.



These behaviors include, but are not limited to:



1)      Showing me **** pics

2)      Assuming it’s okay to show a girl you met not even an hour ago a **** pic (Do not even say it’s because of a culture difference, because I know of Frenchies who don’t do that)

3)      Approaching me because I’m sitting alone (I accepted that because I assumed he wasn’t going to violate my mind like that (good thing I don’t have photographic memory) but I didn’t wave over and say “Hey, you look friendly! Come over and talk to me!”)

4)      Asking me how serious things are with my boyfriend

5)      Asking me about my bisexuality—only to invalidate it

6)      Assigning me behavior expectations because of my gender

7)      Trying to control the way I do or do not reproduce

8)      Expecting me to behave a certain way because of my sexuality

9)      Judging me based on my sexuality

10)  Openly discriminating against people and expecting me to be okay with prejudice

11)  Using racist terms… because you’re a racist

12)  Dehumanizing the oppressed





Because I don’t know what you studied about it (wait—most people who disagree with feminism haven’t and are completely misinformed) but:



Feminism is about equality, and it doesn’t feel very equal when I show someone respect but I get no respect in return. And if you associate feminism with fauxminism and misandry, please educate yourself. (If I had Tumblr still, you better believe I would’ve already posted this). To quote the great words of Jay in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back: "Remember, don’t whip your **** out unless she asks."

"In our culture people tend to over-personalize"

I don't understand that statement, Professor.
In fact, I think it's a paradox;
I think our culture tends to under-personalize.
Women are just **** and men are just dollar signs.
We make generalizations to degrade those around us, whether the generalizations are true or not.

Our culture supports independence
and opinions and freedom,
yet we label everyone with their own box
of stereotypes: gender, race, ****** preference,
appearance, religion, and intelligence.

Our culture de-personalizes individuals:
While us youngsters sit and exploit our lack of work ethic,
demoralize ourselves, smoke our cigarettes,
and play with technology,
laying waste to our mental health.

Our culture promotes individuality:
While the children of this era,
the poor, blessed children
are spoiled rotten,
and pitied for the mess they will have to clean up
when the young
adults of today become
the dead of tomorrow.

A timely observation; complacently inscribed,
finding truth in aberration and restitution in denial.
So long conversely spoken, unmentioned but believed:
to live without intention and die conventionally.

With wide consideration, the bearer must unload
a prideful commendation: what glory in control!
Internally awoken, vehemently believed:
to live without conventions and die intentionally

self deprivation
generalizations
self accusation
mixed assumptions
****** fluids
gated communities
federal violations
welcome

All I’m beginning to feel is pain. My mind is buzzing and throbbing because I’ve shoved it out of sight. My chest aches from a diet of fried foods and breathing toxic conversation. My ears sting from biting criticisms my parents present of: homosexuals, the homeless, drug addicts, hippies, and myself. Ten days trapped, with no escape but my mind. I should have prepared better; brought armor and weapons, but nothing cuts through the opinions of the ignorant. Nothing can expose the lies they’ve fed themselves.

My mother loves “people watching” she says, but only from a safe distance. Far enough to see the grit, but not the despair.
My father is fickle, brooding and American. He can’t look foreigners in the eye and scoffs at language barriers.

Together they make assumptions: drug addict, idiot, fornicators, harlot, thief, terrorist, local, wealthy, foreign.  Maybe they’re right to assume the negative; maybe they’re right when they say all the homeless are drug addicts. I hope not, I maintain faith, faith in the beauty of life, in the inherent differences we all possess, not in a God they say, says no to: liars, and *****, and prostitutes, and druggies, and the tattooed, I run, from them and their prayers, and arrogance and conclusions.

Smite me, parents, your darlingdaughter.

I’ve been all of those.
I lie to you, hide my true self, to spare you.
I’ve smoked ***.
I’ve drank underage.
I’ve been a ****.
I’ve been called a *******.
I’ve loved the idea that love is real, whether you’re gay or straight.

You **** my faith, force in your ideals and chain me to a cross you’ve built yourselves of hypocrisy, of hate, of misunderstanding, of fear, of criticism. I struggle to get free. Defend my principles, play “devil’s advocate,” when you know as well as I, I’m not playing. I’ll prove it, be more than you’ll allow, do more than you want.

I’ll find more love than your Christianity-tainted mind can fathom.
I’ll explore the depths of the mind you’ll never know.
I’ll remember the love you made me forget.
I’ll make love to men without a ring on our fingers, and feel no remorse.
I’ll tattoo my body, to show the world the beauty of my mind.
I’ll buy a Koran because I see its beauty.
I’ll attempt to understand others.
I’ll give to the homeless, even if they’re drug addicts.
I’ll love everyone that’s real, because I can. Because it’s more important than God or war or assumptions or generalizations, or patriotism.

You think I’m rebelling?
No. no. no. I’m just living.

I heard someone whisper "he's such an arrogant *****" as I entered.
Those crooked sons of ******* don't have any idea,
I'm the kind you hardly ever come across except in winters,
when all the street rats are begging for heat.
I command attention at the head of the table,
I am the head of the table,
and sever the head to **** the municipal body.
The wigs and robes and gavels I accessorize command it too.
When I sign things I do it haughtily,
I carefully etch each and every ******* letter onto writs of demand.

I stand!
A hush lingers,
I catch the eyes of Walter Weiss, he lies with every breath
and did you know he is unfaithful to his wife? I heard.
the shudders are shut, my druthers. Oh, Walter!
notarize my forms of annexation, please.
and take down this:
To whom it may concern:

You have 7 days to remove yourself from the premises
as you are aware of the edict that preexists
and preempts your residence
and your squalor misrepresents
your laziness.
Signed: The holding powers, in eminence.

Oh Walter Weiss, address it to yourself!
I pride myself on tact.
And package with the writ this evidence form
sent to my office following a secret examination
conducted by the Department of Residential Safety and Heath.

Do not bother me with demoralizations, Walter!
Due to discourse with the Act of Discontinuation,
(which of course is subject to broad generalizations)
the lien sector of the Savings and Loan Association
have concluded you are found in violation of, through reasoning by generalization,
failing to pay duties on your mortgage issued by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.

Oh, Walter, how distressing!
Don't falter, acquiescing
is always the way.
Just never, ever forget to pay.

there is a war inside me,
begging for your condemnation,
begging for your ruthless sensation.
a war inside me,
that feeds on anticipation,
an invitation for your belittling generalizations,
or an explanation for my creation,
but no please, stay inside your own nation.
this is my civil war,
though civil is not the word i would use to describe
the words echoed in my mind
about my soul, my love, my kind.
i do not hear pride anymore.
my sense of worth escaped when you disregarded to close the door.
running free like the child i once felt inside my numb bones.
i own
nothing
but the cruel, few centimeters inside my skull.
and even those have been invaded by this cold.
i long for daybreak like hades longing for the return of his soul
but i feel no remorse
for the steady course
by which i have found my way
you say,
sit down be calm and wait for your prince,
but i see no prince
i wait only for the queen inside of me to awaken and find
the dragon that for three years has held captive my mind
is recoiling into the skin that it crawled out of.
this queen has not been praying for a handsome mate on a handsome steed
only the virtues and weapons that she may need
she is off
away
to find a happily ever anything
and perchance on the way she shall meet her "king."
or a crown.
or both.

Seize the moment
they say
live in the moment
to seize is to take
to take is to steal
I begin pickpocketing
moments for myself
and no one else

getting advice from what can
only be a moment thief

Articles with click-throughs
said I could love myself
three easy steps
ten easy steps
arbitrary quantities
erroneous
because it has taken
thousands of difficult steps
to begin loving myself
and only with the help
of moments from
strangers and tourists
in my town

The moment thief tells me
not to be scared of being scared

It tells me to be proud
of myself
never ashamed
of how I came to find out
the moment thief
does not know
what I do not know
why I like to make
generalizations
about humanity
as a whole
after being hurt by
only one person

The snatcher says to me
living is as easy as not dying

There is no use shoplifting
the only good lives
are in the street
and in the homes
be a cat burglar
ahead of the pack

a kiss
one day I'll be nothing
the best days of my life have been embarrassing myself on social media
it's constant.

there is no sound in the world
muddy infrared generalizations recognized as awareness
in deep thought means I stare at an object in silence.

since then a spider has become more nothing than usual
I think I might have died too
passion for writing is the chemical decay so carbon dating is calculated through words

the truth has never emptied me so thoroughly
my headache is gone, I wish this was good news
a kiss is worth savoring like the number of days your friend's Netflix account stays active

what did God try to create
a reality where one can receive a MFA in loneliness and still manage to be unemployed
that is a distinguished honor especially since Facebook has been pivotal

A black and white world doesn't suit me
  I have a visceral response to generalizations
  that serve to minimize, demonize, marginalize

Neither can I accept an existence sheltered in grey
  restrictively deliberating in the narrow space
  between cautious optimism and healthy skepticism

The spectrum of possibility is infinite
  when seen with an open mind and giving heart
  at the risk of discovering beauty

You say, "Time erases all to dust,
                 Water turns all to rust."
"You are wrong" I say.
You say, "Time will one day dissipate
                   even the sun, bacteria in the
                  water turns all to rust."
"You are wrong today and always," I say.

You say, "What are you going on about?"
I notice your lip tremble as you weaken
with doubt.
"I am not going to riddle or ridicule you, "I say.
You say," Then what is your arguing about?"
"Water can rust only metal or wash away stuff,
there is no rust on plastic or glass or wood," I say.

You say, "Okay, you may have a point, but ...", you
pause in thought, then go on, " more than rust,
oxidization happens to all!"
"Generalizations are weak with holes," I say and then
"God will end it all when He calls all home."
I say as well.
You say nothing, thinking looking up at the sky.
"He is time, He is love, He is near more than above,
He cleanses with water and turns it into wine, He is
the Divine." I say.
You say," Fine, I know this too, but everything."
"In the beginning God,.." I say.

With that we say no more but run off to grab our hockey
sticks, "I'll be Parent, you'll be Orr," I say.
You say, "He shoots, he scores."
"Let's play some more," I say, "we will be called in for dinner soon,
we don't have much time left before the sun sets and leaves us in
shadow with the lights on the street."
You say, "We would play till dawn, if they let us."
"You are right as always, " I say to make sure I get in the last word.

©DWE032013

I choose to see the beauty in people.
I will leave the ugly rhetoric
to the media's narratives.
Can't mess with those stereotypes and comatose generalizations;
that 'fuckery' that steals away common sense from ours and future generations.
You become what you give your attention to.
I spend my divine currency of kindness in loving you.
You are apart of God's divine plan.
He wakes you and me up each and everyday.
In my soul's faith I know that everything will be okay.
This is why I continue to pray.
Because I choose to see the beauty and best in people.
This keeps me upbeat.
Because I try to imagine what God sees in my fellow soul siblings.
And from that cosmic perspective;
I go about my business.
For father God is in charge of each and every plot twist.


(C) copyrighted