In my junior year of college, I took a Feminist Literature class. We read this comic book called The Complete Hothead Paisan: Homicidal Lesbian Terrorist. I’m embarrassed now to have been kind of embarrassed to carry a book that said in big letters HOMICIDAL LESBIAN TERRORIST. But when I came across a quote that really spoke to me, I wrote it down in my journal. I look at it now when I need a kick. Here it is:

Look at me and promise that you’ll never stop what you’re doing just because someone looks at you funny. And that the words “I hate myself” will never come from your mouth. Promise yourself that the next time you have an idea and the little motherfucker in your head says “It Ain’t Good Enough,” you’ll rip its throat out. Promise the universe that you’ll do the thing that makes your house rock.

This quote came into my life at a time when I really needed to hear it. I’d gone through a number of majors and ended up back where I should have always been. English it was. But what would I do with an English degree? I’d just finished a required theology class that had knocked me off center and changed the way I looked at the world. But maybe it was just a passing interest. I wanted to write, but I didn’t think I had any talent.

I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, and I felt pressure from others, but mostly myself, to choose something practical. Instead I chose the things that make my house rock, and I deal with the sacrifices and uncertainty as they come.

I was going to stop there. Snappy, but vague and dishonest. I have to say that lately I’m really feeling the effects of my decision to pursue my dream career of being a professor. I used to talk about it as a sacrifice. I thought I knew what I was talking about, because I’d always worked hard. I mean, I grew up a middle class white girl in the United States, so I’m not going to give you a sob story, but my parents never shielded me completely from the reality of the world.

A lot of the undergrads I encounter in the library live in a little college bubble where they don’t have to worry about things like money. That wasn’t my college experience at all, so I freaking hated when adults would try to talk to me about the real world. I was like, what world do you think I’m living in? Even now, it’s hard for me to admit that they were partially right. But, the further I get from college and the safety net of my parents, the more weighed down I am by responsibilities and obligations and freaking bills! Damn those bills. Every month the regulars come along with a few surprises. Things are only made more burdensome by the current economic crisis.

I still don’t regret my decision, but I’m not sure I knew what I was getting myself into. Maybe that was for the best. Sometimes the idea of settling down and building a career from the education I already have sounds very appealing to me. But, it’s not really what I want. It would mean settling, and when you’re fortunate enough to know what makes your house rock, you owe it to yourself and the universe not to settle for less.

I mean, if I’m going to fail, then it’s going to be big! None of this giving in or giving up crap. Not when I know what I want.

I have a few academic heroes. But, there’s one who stands above the rest. Not literally, of course. He’s a small guy with a Georgian accent, and he retired before I even made it out of elementary school. He basically put the kind of theology I study on the map. He was into ecology before it was even cool. And, he can hold your interest while talking at length on just about any topic. He’s the reason I decided to study here. I read one of his books–it was about being a Christian who thinks–and I thought that if this was the kind of place where you could talk about things like that, then it’s where I needed to be. Because, even though he retired 18 years ago, he’s still researching, still writing, and still accepting almost any offer to speak. I never miss an opportunity to hear him speak.

Last year, he came to speak to a class I was taking on theology, feminism, and gender. Our teacher had told us beforehand that my academic hero (who I’m not naming for fear of being googled) thought that men couldn’t be feminists. Actually, I’m not sure whether he thinks men can’t be feminists or whether he just won’t call himself a feminist. Of course, we were all a little thrown. No one around here is scared of the F-word. I assumed he had a good reason.

He did.

When one of the girls in my class asked him why he didn’t consider himself a feminist, he answered that he thought that for him as a white man to identify as a feminist would cause more harm than good. He feels that men calling themselves feminists suggests that they can take on the identity of women fighting for equal rights. He thought that this masked the role that men had in the oppression of women. He thinks it’s better for men–or for himself, at least–to fight for gender quality from their own distinct social locations. His concern is that men will call themselves feminists, identify directly with women feminists, and in so doing, fail to examine their own role in the oppression of women and the ways in which they continue to benefit from gender inequality. His claim is that men should respond differently to the problem of gender inequality, because they inhabit different social locations from women.

Another concern is that men will identify directly with the feminist movement and thereby possibly overpower the voices and leadership of women. If that’s the case, then very little progress has been made–the voices of men are still be valued more highly than women. Women don’t need for men to take over their fight for equality.

None of this is to say that men can’t care about gender equality or can’t act in solidarity with feminists. In one sense, it is just a matter of labels. I don’t care if a man calls himself a feminist if he’s still acting in the best interests of feminists (as determined by feminists). But, on the other hand, labels often run much deeper than the surface. That’s exactly what my academic hero is arguing here. He’s concerned that the label of feminist disguises the unique role that men can play in the feminist movement–a role that is not identical to those played by women.

This idea is, of course, broadly applicable, and I try to keep it in mind. For this reason, I do not call myself a womanist, even though in my own thought and scholarship I am mindful of the womanist* critique of white feminism. I am part of the group that has silenced black women’s voices and taken the experiences of white women to be representative of all women. If I want to be in solidarity with the womanist movement, then I need to be critical of myself as a white feminist and not assume that I can understand what’s it’s like to be a womanist or that I know what’s needed in order for black women to gain equality. I can show my solidarity through self-critique and by shutting up and listening to womanists and other non-white feminists.

I certainly don’t mean to single anyone out here.  My point is that we are best able to respond to problems when we work from out own social locations.  Nothing is gained when we lose our own identities in order to be in solidarity with others.  We are each uniquely able to respond based on the groups we belong to, the environments we inhabit, and the resources available to us.

*I’m not sure how well the womanist movement is known outside of the academy. It is the response of black women (and oftentimes other non-white women) to the racism of the the feminist movement and the sexism of the civil rights movement. It’s focus is the experience of black women, which womanists argue has been ignored