yes

I have a technical writer. I remember hearing a motivational speaker comment about how people ask why skinny people run. They don't need to do it. But, it was precisely because they did it that they were thin and healthy. And so it goes with my writing. I am good at writing, I always have been. But I want to keep getting better, finding more and more ways to use words to captivate, educate, and empower my audience. It's no easy task. I have to immerse myself sometimes to truly harness this ability.

She didn't call me back today and I am hungry. So hungry for her critiques, her improvements, her suggestions. I have always loved improving myself, that's why I like things like dental visits.

I stare at the phone as if I'm waiting for a long lost lover. She won't call me back until tomorrow. My words sit and wait.

fly like paper

This weekend, I'm heading to Dallas. I have been invited to do two presentations, one Saturday and one Sunday. They are both in Farsi. I am feeling the usual anxiety I always feel before I speak publicly in Farsi. But there's something else. As I am preparing mentally for this trip and planning my speeches, I feel the distinct sense that this is right. This is what I am supposed to be, this is who I am supposed to be. I am a bridge, and I have always known it. Living in three countries by the age of six, I learned at an early age to relate to all kinds of people and thus help them relate to each other.

My role is still the same. I am a nomad, not completely part of this world or that one, but part of all worlds. I connect worlds with my writing, sharing the wisdom of one group with another, combining the forces of dedicated passion with raw idealism and natural curiosity, so that we can all work together for social change.

Right now, I am in self-imposed isolation, and it is what I need to do for the time being. It will be different in a few months, but for now this is the way it is. I miss people, but I have to concentrate. I am so close to being done, so close to obtaining the key that will open the door to all my dreams, that I can taste it. Time-wise, it's still far off in the distance, but in terms of finishing coursework and milestones I am getting damn close!

I am grateful to know that I have friends who will allow me this space, and welcome me back with open arms, when I emerge from my cocoon. I think my dreams are coming true.

you have me confused with someone else

you thought something you said or did could take away my power?
please.
you have me confused with someone else.

you thought you could hold me down and make me stay?
please.
you have me confused with someone else.

you thought you could pull a fast one, say some shit but do another, then expect me to feel the same?
please.
you have me confused with someone else.

you thought you could throw away our friendship because another asked you to, and you think i will care enough to want to say goodbye?
please.
you have me confused with someone else.

you thought you could violate me, then blame it on me being desirable and expect me to want you in my life?
please.
you have me confused with someone else.

you thought you could take advantage of my gender's curse of being programmed to please people, that because I smile I will not stand up for myself?
please.
you have me confused with someone else.

you thought you could shove your nose into where it doesn't belong, disrespecting my privacy, and expected me not to draw boundaries?
please.
you have me confused with someone else.

someone i used to be, someone that slouched, a piece of me i still love because she is me
someone who walked in the shadows, who felt lost,
tried to blend in.

that is no longer me.

i am not afraid to walk away, i am not afraid to be alone, i am not afraid of the darkness
i measure my time and think before i speak
but i am no longer afraid
i am alive
and you will hear my voice.

and if you hear my voice being shaky, because i get nervous, because i wonder if i live up to the standards i have for myself,
do not mistake it for weakness.

and for those who truly see me
you won't confuse me with anyone else.

freedom

I got a new bike today. Well, not new, but new to me. It happened by accident, drifted into my life by chance and at no cost to me. It's my first mountain bike, and it's so light, and smooth, and lovely. I can sit down the whole way and it doesn't feel uncomfortable.

I soar in the streets, I hum with nature, I dance. There's something about biking. I think it's partly the act of biking itself: the feeling of flying, the world passing by like silent memories, the whirlwind of colors, sounds, and shapes. But, for me, it's also the entering of spaces where cars cannot fit, being able to swerve into the corners and shadows. This is how I live my life, noticing opportunities others don't see, exploring the tiny unventured paths only to find treasure.

  

weaving

"Please share your story."

I have a million things on my mind, lost in a sea of transition, and he wants my story.

But he is one of the people I respect most in the whole world and he is a major reason I have been a successful graduate student. I used to look at his online picture, read his materials, wonder what he was like. Now I am one of his top students.

I try to ignore his request at first. I went about my day, but it was always in the back of my mind. My story weaves itself constantly anyway, but his request added color and richness.

Then, at the right moment, I write my story. I read his and give my impressions. I attach both. My story is personal and I have a tiny moment of doubt. I click send.

He wrote back last night with his comments. His words give me the balance I need; that's why he's such a great mentor.

Writing is an awesome process.

a new hat

Today I attended an all-day workshop to teach me how to teach. Teaching is a lot like counseling--you meet students at their level, you provide structure in the first meeting but remain flexible, but there seems to be a fundamental difference.

As a therapist, I consider myself empowerment-focused. I try to neutralize the inherent power deferential between myself and the client. I enter their world, and we collaborate to find solutions. Minimizing the power difference helps clients find their own answers.

In the world of teaching, power is different, perhaps because my job is to help people master concepts, perhaps because I will evaluate them on how well they do it. I think also keep hearing that for undergraduate classes, a great deal of structure and boundaries are needed. It is important to establish myself as a professional right off the bat, thereby increasing rather than decreasing the power deferential. (For grad students it is different.)

But I'll probably still sneak some empowerment-focused activities into my undergrad teaching, teaching how to fish and so forth. This is my first semester as the primary instructor.

I'm excited about wearing this new hat. I think it will look good on me.

Two worlds

I have lived in two cultures for as long as I can remember. In the sixth grade, a classmate called me Saddam Hussain's little sister. My Iranian identity went into hiding after that, although it remained an important part of me. I feared people finding out, so I taught myself to be an invisible minority, the ambiguously brown girl. The journey to becoming who I am now, someone who is so proud of being an Iranian woman that she wears it on her neck for all to see, is long and a story for another day. My background no doubt has an impact on who I am and what form my activism takes. I am more convinced now than ever that there is great benefit in spreading awareness about Iranian women's and human rights struggles. I want to discuss this issue more with people and I want to write about it. Spreading awareness to induce collaboration, not a rescue mission, because I think people have more power now than ever. Grassroots efforts can become worldwide collaborations, as long as the individuals continue to work together and people don't lose site of the grassroots essence. Three images released in the Vietnam War changed Americans forever and ultimately ended the war.  If a military strike on Iran does happen, people, just ordinary people, do have the power of change. Especially now, as the recent Gaza incident shows, international activists and outrage can produce change as well. It may not be significant change in some eyes, but not all change is revolutionary and immediate.

And this inducing collaboration, especially among English speakers, is where I see myself in this movement, among English speakers.

some time

sometimes she tiptoes, because she has to.
she walks between the shadows.

sometimes she has to dim her light.

but,
in the smoothness of connection
the gentle arch of a kiss
the madness of desire flames set her free.

lost in transcription

Words have been swirling around my head all day, touching my heart, dancing all around and about. But they aren't my words--they are the recorded voices of people I interviewed, activists.  The interviews usually run a little over an hour. It takes anywhere from 1-6 hours to transcribe one interview. I honestly don't know what makes some longer and some shorter to transcribe. It's not the length of interview, or even the language. Yet somehow, the time it takes to transcribe varies. A lot.

This is one part of research that can bog people down. The tedious, seemingly mind-numbing aspects that seem so simple and yet are impressively time-consuming. I spent the entire day and most of the evening, sitting in the same position at a desk, transcribing one and a half interviews. And I will do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and probably at least two full days after that.

I don't deny that it's tedious but any job can be that way at times. I think the secret is studying or doing something you love, something you are passionate about, the topic that always has you thinking and musing and creating and wondering. It took me a long time and a twisted journey to recognize mine but I am grateful I finally did.

Plus, the process of transcription is in and of itself enjoyable to me. The words become a part of me, in a way they hadn't before, as if they are absorbed into me through osmosis of the fingers. I love that feeling. I cry when I listen, at times, I laugh with joy. The hardest part is starting, once I am there for even five minutes, I am hooked.

I wish I had my pastels and sketch pad. I really feel like drawing in the bright, bold colors of summer passion.

A timeline

I lost my brother at the age of 6, and went from being an outgoing extrovert to a reserved introvert. The number of words I spoke decreased, but the number and quality of the words I wrote soared. I kept a diary, I wrote essays, poetry, whatever I felt like. I won awards and class contests and had things published in the city paper before I was eighteen. For papers, I generally waited until the last minute, drank some coffee, and stayed up all night or sometimes woke up in wee hours of morning. I got some absurd pleasure from being able to do it at the last minute and still get A's. It was effortless so I never really appreciated it.

That has all changed since I started my PhD. A paper I thought was good got torn to shreds. I had to rewrite almost every sentence for another one for publication. Reviewing over 100 sources, then 200 sources, for a literature review. It's been rough at times but it's given me a new and humbling appreciation for writing. I'm so glad I have had to work for it, because the truth is, when I first started my PhD I wasn't ready to write a book and now I think I am.

I don't know what it will do, maybe nothing, but I hope it can help the Iranian women's movement. All I can do is try my best, and use all the knowledge and skills I have learned in the last few years to make it as accurate to participants' experiences as possible, as authentic as I can. (In that sense, being an activist makes me further driven to find out truth from participants' perspectives, to be scientific.) A well-written book, using the skills I have accumulated in the last few years, to engage the audience: non-academics.

A critic within has developed in terms of my writing, and I thought for a while this was sad. This systematic little bugger is sometimes overwhelming, but I'm finally striking a balance between her and the passionate, free-flowing writing that pours out naturally. The one that has no logical structure. It's the tension between science and art.

I need to catch up on reflections in my research log today, and that has consumed most of my morning. I suppose for some it's best to do these day by day. I am constantly reflecting, and it takes time for ideas to cement, to take shape in my mind. It is only through a long internal process that I develop confidence of my ideas, and myself. So I may require a delay in writing reflections. Or maybe I'm trying to give myself a free pass for procrastinating? It can always be that.

All I have done, since graduate school, since I moved here, has prepared me for writing this book. From the early days when I figured out I could better express myself through writing than speaking. I will continue to help as others I respect ask me. I am grateful for them, as they help me define my role in this movement. My missing link was my connection to my people, and I'm fostering that now too.

So today, peacefully writing reflections, while eating pomegranate seeds from Trader Joe's. Best fruit on earth.

I can feel it

This research is changing me, shattering what I know at times, confirming what I have learned at others, making my head spin and blowing me away with new ideas.

One thing that has become clear for me is my role as a researcher. I have co-written articles on research for the purpose of social change but I think I only understood it on a theoretical perspective until now. And how can you really know what kind of researcher you are, until you are out in the field on your own?

I am not an expert. I am not an objective scientist. I do not separate who I am from my research.

What I am is an activist and researcher, whose heart is very much part of what I do. What I am is a scientist and an artist, co-creating reality with the people I am studying. I see participants as experts.

How can I claim to do women's empowerment research and practice if the methods I use are not empowering? I have changed my project several times according to what I've learned. I strive for dialogue and collaboration. I hope to always stay open.

feminism and me, at this moment in time

For a long time, I didn't think about feminism. As a matter of fact, I sometimes vehemently denied the existence of sexism in my world. If I reflect on why that was, all I can think of is that it was so subtle that I didn't see it, or at least I didn't want to see it. What blared much louder, what made me different from my peers, was growing up Iranian in a conservative Texas suburb. I now know that human beings have multiple shifting identities, and at any given time one or another is more salient than the others. My ethnicity was most salient for years and I simply didn't have the energy to think about gender. But that's a story for another day.

I remember the first day of gender class I felt so stupid because I couldn't answer the question "When was the first time someone made it clear to you that you didn't have the same privileges as the opposite sex?" I didn't know. Not at that time.

Eventually the memory inched its way back in. I remember my aunt prodding my younger male cousin to help me with cleaning their living room. My aunt said he needed to help me, I was doing it all by myself. My usually sweet and polite cousin, trying to impress the older kids, said "She's used to it, she's a girl." Snickers of approval by the kids in the room. What is most disturbing to me about this event is my reaction to it: I quietly continued cleaning, resigned to the fact that I would be doing it by myself. That wasn't like me at all, up to that point. I was pretty bossy.

I know people have gone through this journey earlier in life, and maybe some don't get there at all: the recognition of the self as a gendered being. Once the window has been opened, it can't be closed. As a matter of fact, once the window is open, the wind blows in, everything breaks apart-in a good way, in a really powerful, awe-inspiring, intense way, but breaks apart nonetheless.

Feminism is a way of being. Feminism is a way of interacting, it's a way of doing, talking, loving, speaking, being. It's the recognition of society as unfairly balanced and that it's not good for anyone. In Iran, sexism is through laws, culture, religion, almost everything. It's insidious. Here it's more subtle--it's through advertising and big business selling the idea of woman as commodity. The idea that woman's bodies have to be in an unnatural and idealized form to be beautiful. The thousands of money, years, wasted, in the name of "beauty."

I was like that once. I hated my body. I tried so hard to be a certain size. Luckily I never got as extreme as I could have.

Something happened when I started to live alone for the first time in my life, when I moved hundreds of miles away from home to start my PhD. Partly it was my wonderful advisor, who always reminded us to love our bodies, to fully appreciate them. Maybe dance of the dissident daughter. Maybe the gender class. It all sort of fell together. But looking back, it started way earlier, I can see it in the volunteer opportunities I chose for myself: working with survivors of rape, domestic violence, empowering women, so I was somewhat on this journey all along, but with less self-awareness.

I started to practice treasuring my body, finding ways to appreciate it. Bubble baths, dancing with myself, appreciating the fire of my desires and the wonderment of my body, a human body, so powerful and yet so fragile, and somewhere along the way I started to love my body. The more I recognize this growing appreciation and self-love, the more I want to help other women find this power within themselves. Collaborate and communicate, to empower them to realize, they are beautiful no matter what size, shape, color they are. And they can see what society has done to them and they have the power to actively change it.

Feminist movements involve men and women, and sometimes it takes women to really get a movement going, as what happened with the men's movement in response to feminism in the U.S., and the aspirations of men to start something new after the One Million Signatures Campaign in Iran. I am learning that men are great supporters of movements started by women and start gender-related efforts of their own.

But I'm still not entirely sure what feminism is. I have only taken one class in gender so far (next one this fall!), and I'm still at the beginning of my journey.

What I do know is that all I hear now are feminist calls. I want to surround myself with powerful women who are passionate about making change. From all around the world, of all different ages, identities, ethnicities, sexualities, bodies, etc, women and men who are fighting for more egalitarian societies.

This blog is scattered and incomplete, but I guess that is me and feminism, at this moment in time.

this is me

My style has never been to cast a wide net. My approach has never been quantity over quality. I strive to know people on a deep level, it's the relater in me, my number one strength. I want to connect fully and deeply. I want to know people's hopes, desires, dreams, fears, everything. And I can't do that with everyone. So I focus on a few.

I could have talked to more people. I could have jumped right in. But instead, I chose to observe. I chose to listen. I took a step back and allowed myself to feel both inside and outside. I wasn't like most of the others my age, I grew up here, I have an accent, it was obvious from my speech. But I am also clearly inside. I share a bittersweet love and deep passion for helping Iran, especially our sisters.

I've thought about this inside-outside dichotomy before, this limbo of an identity. It makes me uncomfortable at times. Where do I fit?

But this time, I embraced it. And a cheesy video on the plane back cemented it all, something about being proud of your accent, no matter what it is. My accent when I speak Farsi has always been a source of embarrassment. I feel like it distracts people and prevents me from getting my point across. And it magnifies the fear that I don't belong here, I am an impostor, I can't even speak the language.

But I didn't let it stop me. Instead, I embraced it.

My accent is me. It represents my connection to my roots, the Farsi I have held onto at all costs, when everything seemed to be pushing me into just speaking English and leaving it all behind, but I held on.

My accent is me. It represents the sometimes delicate balance of being bicultural, growing up not quite fully part of either. It means stumbling blocks and communication barriers and pushing me to try harder.

My accent is me. It represents me as an individual, how I think as someone who spent my life here, how my words were shaped  as a child, the language I learned to write in, and who I am.

I am realizing that my English skills can help this movement. I am so happy to hear that. I want to use every skill I have ever learned. I vow to never stop growing, and understanding myself as an Iranian-American woman. I will read the great Persian poets like Hafez in Farsi one day, and at least semi-understand them.

me vs. machine, me vs. myself

I decided a long time ago that I didn't believe in mistakes. My reasoning was that we make the best decision we have with the information and the emotions we have at the time.

But what is carelessness? What about things you can't take back? Like yesterday. If I want to be super-gentle to self, I can call it a technical error. If I want be honest, though, I call it my #%&&$@. Machines and I have never had a good relationship--I don't know what I was thinking when I thought I was going to work in computer science. I think it's just that, machines are so black and white. With people, you can always try to talk to them, and I can usually make a pretty strong case for things I truly believe in.

But not with a machine. Granted, it did ask me, are you sure you want to do this? I did consent. But I want to take it back. If it was a person, I would say, I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean what I said. Will you please allow me to take it back. But not with a machine. With a machine, I might never get it back, never get those precious words back, just the fading memory of a beautiful conversation suspended in time.

There were definitely things that led up to that moment, that I can try and remedy in the future. Everything's a lesson after all. I should have made sure the recorder had space before I started. I should keep my files more organized. 

And furthermore, my actions afterward. Being distressed, and compounding my mistake. A lost opportunity to connect. I need to get the eff over my mistakes and move on, when that happens. I am here for a short time, and I can't miss opportunities again.

So I have a new rule for this dissertation: take advantage of every opportunity. Don't dwell on mistakes, or what could have been. I will do the best I have with what I got. 

And ultimately, it's not about the machine. Yes, it's about those recorded words, but the connection goes so much beyond that. It's about the beauty of human interaction, the bond shared, the essence communicated to each other beyond words. That's going to go into developing these portraits too. And no one can take that away from me. 

No one can take our memories, the touching of our souls. And plus, my journey is just beginning.

I'm here, I'm ready, it's on

I am beginning my dissertation. I am open to what the data is telling me. I feel peaceful and calm. Paris was amazing, I met a few really good people. My journey is just beginning, I am here to learn.

I never talk to people next to me on flights; I prefer to sit in my own space in the air. But this lady next to me had a lovely accent and great energy. We talked and it turns out she is a publisher. I talked to her about some of my ideas and she gave me helpful suggestions. It's all part of this crazy, messed up, windy, exciting path that I'm on.

I feel humble, like it's not about me anymore. I have a greater responsibility now and I am taking it seriously. I know what I can do to help the movement more than ever. I am ready to devote my life to this cause.

It's bigger than me, it's about the hard work of the individuals I met. To see videos is one thing. To meet activists in person is another, to hear their voices and stories, see their brave smiles. I will never forget her face, so lovely, and her embrace, so heartfelt.

But one suggestion I will not take--the one about being a scholar for this project, not an activist. I don't believe in that mutual exclusivity. I will be scientific and systematic the whole way, yes. But I will not pretend to not have any biases. No one is bias-free. And I want to write a book that will help the women's movement--I will not pretend otherwise. Does this worldview and goal affect my research? Absolutely. Will it shape how I write findings? Yes, but don't all worldviews, methods and biases? All I can do is be as self-aware and transparent as possible. My project is somewhere between science and art. I am not afraid to take this approach and I can defend it, matter of fact I've published articles on it.

Thank goodness for life!

saturday night musings

Tonight, I spend quality time with me. I am reflecting, I am shining like a lone candle, I am reminiscing and I am thinking. It is the calm before the storm. In 11 days, I will be in Paris, and after that, L.A. I won't be home for over a month. No fatcat in bed, no trees blowing out my window.

It's going to be huge. I will change, as research always changes me. The kind of research I do is close to the heart. I'm taking chances. Already, the project is not going as I thought it would, and that's okay. It will be okay. I have a lot to learn and that is okay too.

I will stand with strong women. I have to make sure my posture is good, my back straight. My mom always straightened my posture, and I never understood why. But I do now. Making sure my back is straight makes me feel tall, and proud. Proud of being a woman. Knowing I can stand tall and equal around anyone and everyone. That is a promise I am making to myself on this trip, to stand and sit up straight.

I feel unworthy sometimes and it's overwhelming. But I can't let that side get the best of me. I vow to work through it, because my time is limited. I need to smile at the nervous me, give her a hug, and show her outside politely. I will try not to get discouraged.

Everything has prepared me for this trip, and this dissertation. My time is now.

impotent

I'm scared. I've put my heart and soul into this dissertation. I want it to be something great. It can be. There is only one thing that can stop me, not having the people to participate. I can make the most beautiful, elaborate plan, but without participants, it means nothing.

Silence is painful.

in the blink of an eye

life can really change in an instant. earlier this week, I was going about my business, trying to get work done, when I receive one of the most important emails I have ever gotten in my life.

Every year, the Iranian Women's Studies Foundation has a conference. I have wanted to go for a while but haven't had the means. This year, I am already going to LA, and have the costs associated with that. I'm just a poor grad student after all. But then I receive an email from them, that I have won an award. I have won an award and they want to present it to me at the conference in three weeks. They need my acceptance speech right away and a physical address if I am not coming to the conference.

#*&($*&#(*$&
Me??!?! Are you sure?

It's for women's empowerment research I did in Iran and it's the first time I'm receiving an award for a specific project. I interviewed 26 women who had broken societal rules, and it was a life-changing experience. The award committee loved it, apparently. Something about "innovative," "effective," and my personal favorite, "simply brilliant." It's amazing and humbling and thrilling and unbelievable.

The conference is in Paris this year. I was super excited until I started looking for flights. I was expecting 800 but they were double that. How the hell was I going to afford this? I cried when I realized how much flights were. The cash amount they were giving me for the award just wasn't enough.

Then I sat, and talked to myself. I remembered a promise I had made to myself when I applied for the award, that if on the off chance I won it, I had to go. I couldn't miss this opportunity.

So I started looking ferociously. I checked out dissertation travel awards, conference funding, job leads. I was determined, determined, determined. It was like the time I was 17 and worked at IHOP. One night, a customer came in that happened to work at a skydiving place and he happened to give me a coupon. I would be turning 18 in a week, so I worked hard to make enough to go skydiving asap. I was generally a terrible waitress, but for those 8 days I was stellar. The week I turned 18, I went skydiving.

This is like that. A short, short period of time to do something huge, something that I will remember forever. Doors were opened and some were shut in my search for funding, but the important point is I'm GOING. I just bought my ticket and I'm going to Paris!!

In less than three weeks, I will get to meet strong Iranian women from all around the world. I'll discuss my project with them. I'm going to learn so much I can't even fathom it. These women will become professional colleagues, mentors, and friends.

Less than three weeks!! How quickly life can change...

out

I get so confused sometimes. I have days where I am not nearly as productive as I need to be. And I have days where I realize being super productive is what I want to be and I need to work somewhere that holds me accountable. Then there are days that I want nothing to hold me accountable and to just be. But I wonder if that would drive me insane. I hate thinking of myself as one of those people who always has to be doing to feel good, to feel at peace. But maybe I am?

There are times when one part of me chides me in anger for not rising to my potential, for wasting time, for allowing the day to pass uneventfully and without an attempt at greatness. I am torn between her and the other part, the one that says you have done okay, now just relax. But I can't, can I?

Sometimes I feel powerless to stop these forces. They war within me, constantly fighting, making me weak. I don't know how much self-care is too much. I don't know if I have cashed out for the summer. Is this all just an elaborate attempt to justify procrastination?

How do I motivate myself when I feel like doing nothing?

this is what always was

this seat was never supposed to be for two. This home was only meant for me, one crazy grad student with a crazy sleeping schedule, and chub, a fatty who constantly demands my love. This road is lonely and familiar and comforting. I was always meant to travel it alone.

I moved here, away from everything, in the middle of nowhere, to find myself. I said it was because of the program. But the truth is, I didn't look that hard in nearby places. Even when I lived 200 miles from home, I felt the shadow of my past creeping around me. I wanted to escape, to reinvent myself, to jump right into a new scene where I didn't know anyone and see how I landed. Would I land like chub does, despite her fat belly and oodles of fur, gracefully on my feet?

I am not sure if I can call it graceful. I am not sure if I can call it ladylike. I do know that I am truer to myself than I have ever been. I have opened myself up to deep pain and rejection and terrifying anxiety. But I am still here. My anxiety, thoughts of paranoia, crippling insecurities, sometimes grip me and keep me from doing much else. But I have learned to move through them, to push past them.

I am on same path I have always been, and it will last one more year. The difference is, there's a lighthouse in the distance.

...

A long time ago, I accepted that there is no such thing as karma, on a micro- or macro-level. Good people may have it hard their entire lives and bad deeds frequently go unpunished. But this stings. The protests to mark the anniversary of last year's Iranian "elections" this Saturday have been cancelled. The opposition leaders and groups weren't able to receive a permit (surprise, surprise) and it's just too dangerous to go out, what with the 2 million Basiji forces called in and all. People may still come out, but at what cost?

I don't blame them. Not one bit. They have been or known someone who has been killed, tortured,  raped, banned from continuing their studies. Things we can't even imagine. How can you ask someone to risk their life? How can you ask them to risk their freedom? How can you ask them to risk their families?

Today, I am disillusioned. Today, I want to crawl in a hole. It seems unimaginable that a country with so many intelligent, passionate people can remain under the rule of some of the most backwards assholes on the face of the earth. It seems inconceivable that these misogynist brutes will remain in power. And all I ever hear on the news about Iran anymore is fucking sanctions and nuclear shit. What a joke. But there you have it.

I'm sure I'll be better soon. A lot more have faced a lot worse, and I have to be strong too. But today, my heart is breaking.

I am not afraid

I realize you have been in power for centuries, you have ruled the world with your fists and your guns and your words and your standards. You have grown accustomed, intoxicated even, to being in charge. You have made people into possessions, created ownership when there should have been freedom, and ignored the needs of the women who helped make you strong.

But I am not afraid of you. I will look you in the eye and tell you I am an equal. I will point out the hypocrisy, pointlessness, and danger of the patriarchy every chance I can. I will not worry about people not liking me. I will shout when I have to.

If I am a true feminist, if I am not to be a hypocrite, I need to stand up for women's injustice in every corner, and that begins at home. No longer can I remain silent. I have no delusions that I will change everyone's mind. But I must try. If I don't try, I cannot live with myself. What others want to do with that information is up to them.

When women become empowered, societies change. This is my research and my passion. This is my life. It's the goal I work toward, that I think about constantly, because I know that is how the world will change. And I believe the most beautiful living thing on earth is a strong woman. So many subtle and not-so-subtle ways the patriarchy rears its ugly head. And sometimes we have to look deep within ourselves to see how differently we see men and women.

I am not asking anyone to do something that I don't do myself. For a while, I didn't acknowledge gender inequality and I didn't think about how being a woman had affected me growing up. Through working at rape crisis centers, becoming educated about women, reading, watching my own mother pick up the pieces after a divorce and witnessing how people treated her, I began to learn. I realized how many ways women are kept down and how much they can accomplish when they are empowered.

I stand tall and proud as a woman. And I am not afraid.

it's coming

there's a rumbling going on. In a few days, my sisters and brothers will be out on the streets again to commemorate the 1 year anniversary of the Iranian "elections." There is some debate about whether or not this will occur and to what extent, but nevertheless the Islamic Republic has been preparing for weeks, shipping in over 2 million paramilitary forces to Tehran. And once again, they crack down on women especially. A new court's been set up specifically to deal with women's dress code, and the crackdown on clothing and veil has gotten so bad women aren't leaving their houses. Will the IR's disgusting misogyny never end? Their fear of the strong, beautiful Iranian woman is painfully obvious. So they attack, they undermine, but they will never break the spirit of my sisters. I have witnessed their strength firsthand.

I wonder how many will turn out, or if they will at all. They may opt for a strike or other forms of civil obedience, or maybe the day will pass uneventfully. Even if they don't come, it doesn't mean the Green Movement is dead. They have gone from shouts to rumbles, from in the streets to underground. There are voices of dissent everywhere, you just have to pay attention.

The hearts and minds of my people are strong, and I believe they are biding their time and deciding the next strategies. I want to march with them. I want to plan with them. I feel so torn between my home in the U.S. and my heart in Iran. I'll be watching anxiously this week.

Beautiful video that highlights the protests of the past year

University protest this week in Iran to commemorate death of student activist killed last summer


Letter to IRI Embassies, Consulates, & Interest Sections to Guarantee Fair Treatment of Prisoners of Conscience - it takes less than a minute to fill in the information and send the letter, which automatically goes to the Iranian embassies in 28 countries

swimming in butterflies

I've been MIA, technologically speaking. much less telephone, chatting, etc. I have to get back into it soon. After a week or so of doing nothing, I start to feel restless. I start to wonder if I'm useless. I've always been like this. I wonder how much of my productivity is fueled by anxiety. Next week summer school starts.

There's been a blog swirling inside me, that I have wanted to write. But I can't get the words out. And that is because I'm dizzy, I'm floating about, I'm embracing the depth and spirit of the greatest love I've ever known. I can't describe it in words, or at least I won't do it justice.

All I can do is jump in. All I can do is plunge into this seemingly endless ocean, full of wonder and merriment and darkness and mystery. I am not the first to "fall" in love and I won't be the last. But this sweetness lingers on my lips and lights sparks in my belly, and it feels utterly unique and personal and fantastic.

I am great at being alone. I always have been. My brother died when I was six years old and he was my best friend. I learned that loved ones can be taken away in an instant. I believe the hurts in our childhood can create a shield around us as protection. A force field, where no one can enter and thus no one gets hurt. In every relationship, I had my bags packed, ready to go, waiting for the first sign of trouble so I could be on my way.

I made a decision to change that because I wasn't living life to the fullest. I was going against my nature of loving openly out of fear, and I refuse to do things out of fear if I can help it. So I changed it, every day, little by little.

I got hurt many times and along the way, I discovered a secret. My love is amazing and anyone is lucky to have it. So I struck a balance: living openly and fully, but only to those who seemed they could appreciate and honor my love. I open up to people in time. I would much rather be alone than with someone who doesn't appreciate me.

I enjoyed my years of singledom. I learned about myself in a way that will make me strong for years to come.Without a television and beauty magazines, I liberated myself from conventional beauty standards. I became enthralled by the miracle of my body and I learned to love my curves.  And I became stronger than I have ever been. And this time when I fell in love, it wasn't about need or default or obligation.

And now, I swim in the butterflies. I bask in the kisses. I feel beautiful and happy and fulfilled. We tentatively started floating toward the sky together, sometimes flying apart but always meeting back together, and we are reaching the sky. We will touch the sky.

I dance the way I live

I was at a party the other night and half-heartedly clapping my hands to the music. I didn't really like the song. One of the guests came up to me and commented on my unenthusiastic and offbeat clapping. He'd never seen me do that before. Usually I am in the center of the circle, dancing away to my heart's content, feeling the rhythm of the music with every fiber of my being.

Reminds me of my approach to life. I'm either in or I'm out. I'm either friends with someone or I'm friendly with them. I have no enemies. I always give people room to grow but if I feel like they have disrespected me or not treated me how I deserved, I don't have a problem walking away. I give lots of second chances but once I'm done, I'm done.

I have a hard time pretending. I have a hard time hiding who I truly am, although the innermost parts of me trickle out slowly with time. I love being me and I wouldn't have it any other way.

oh my god

I fucking nailed it. I knew my shit at my proposal meeting today. I answered everyone's questions and took copious notes. I don't know how it's possible that in the space of 2 hours, I learned so much and my research is going to be way better off for it. I love my committee. They are mostly innovative professors who think outside the box and really want to see me succeed.

The end of the meeting was the most surprising part. I had a page of hand-written notes of their feedback, and I assumed I would be submitting that with revisions in the next few weeks. Then one of my committee members spoke up. "I don't need to see another draft." This sentiment was echoed. So...I. Got. My. Fucking. Proposal. Accepted. The revisions they want are minor and are just things to think about as I am collecting data.

If there was any doubt in my mind about entering academia or becoming a professor, it was erased at this meeting. The sharing of ideas, feedback, improving writing, research, I can only describe as elating.

I finished up my work stuff at 3:30 am yesterday, so this means that for the month of May, I am DONE! Summer school starts in early June and that is when I will begin analyzing documents too. I don't even remember the last time I felt caught up like this. It certainly wasn't winter break, when I was stressed about getting 8 zillion things done. Maybe summer?

And I'm so excited about talking to these women. I'm so excited that my conceptualization of this women's rights movement will change as I talk to people. I can't wait to start writing my findings. The literature review, methods section, all that is out of the way and now all that remains is the fun stuff: interviews, analyzing data, writing findings. Qualitative research is a beautiful thing. Today rocks.

?$%?$

my proposal meeting is tomorrow and I can't think straight for the life of me. Since I  submitted my proposal to committee 2 weeks ago, I have been flying high on confidence and a sense of accomplishment. Today I have been second-guessing myself like crazy. I keep looking at the clock. I wander around aimlessly. I don't even know what the hell it is. Perhaps it was seeing both my advisors today and they gave me suggestions I hadn't even thought of yet. Or feeling like I can't measure up. I could have done this, I could have done that.

In about 14 hours, I will go in front of them, and then in 16 hours, it'll be over. Somehow I find these sorts of numbers comforting today. I have a lot to do. Writing a dissertation is going to be crazy.

I feel so inferior today. A part of me and others keeps lifting me up, but then I get weighed or dragged down.

today, i can't escape myself
today, i lock myself in chains
today, i shut the door
and recede from within

I disappear in me, in thinking what could be

women & men & work

I just read this article about the so-called "mommy track." The mommy track is a slower-paced work lifestyle that got a lot of flack when it was introduced. But as the author points out, the mommy track is now being extended to non-parents. Because guess what the heck it is? A more balanced lifestyle, a more sane life style. Having been in the workforce for a few years doing many different kinds of jobs, the only acceptable options to me are working for self, creating, producing, helping people, these things, that really fulfill a sense of purpose. I will have time periods of intense work in these endeavors, but I don't want spend 30 years of my life working 60 hours a week. And according the article, more and more people are opting for more balanced lives. This is music to my ears because for so long I have been thinking about how the U.S. is ruining places like Europe that did have more balanced lifestyles.

There's a health component too. So may diseases are related to stress and obesity and today's workforce conditions increase these two risk factors. The long hours, the sitting in your chair for hours, the convenience of quick lunches. When I lived in Spain, I remember my senora, a chain smoker in her 60s, walking home for the siesta hour to make lunch for everyone in the household. There is just a different feel to the day when you have that break, especially if you get a chance to enjoy the outdoors for a bit.

And speaking of Europe, I have been thinking a lot about public transportation lately. I think public transportation affects the pysche of people a lot. Having to be in close quarters with people of different socioeconomic classes on a daily basis. In so many U.S. cities, people are divided and do not have the opportunity as much to cross-mingle. I think seeing people of different backgrounds adds a layer of empathy, I wonder if there are any studies on that?

I guess I'm just realizing more and more what kind of lifestyle I want to have. Anything I do, I need to have space to write, and that means much less than 40 hours of work outside the home.  I want to do a lot of work from home, like teach online classes but I need some work outside the home too.

But my identity is a writer. It is the backbone of my profession and a cornerstone of my identity. I realize it more in different ways each day. And everything will revolve around that, which requires a lot of solidarity. I have to give things up, I realize. But I can't have it any other way. I won't.

today, i am doing nothing

Today, I will not run errands. I will not do work. I will be a bum, and watch some musicals, and lie around and eat breakfast foods. I will pet chub. I will kill time, I will dance. I will admire the breeze. I will be more present than I have ever been. I'm remembering now, now that I am slowing down, how important it is to be present. I'm remembering how lovely it is to just lose track of time with a friend on a sunny day.

I miss this. I need to make time for me. I lost track of that this semester. It was like the time period right before graduate school, everything got frazzled and crazy and I couldn't find a way out of it. By the time I decided what I was doing, it was too late to turn back and I had to go full-force every minute.

I hope to collect most of my data this summer. Next fall will be more hectic but I can't believe it will be as bad as this semester. The clinical work this semester pushed me over the edge. The research, writing, I loved it even when it made me insane.

But I don't want to reflect today. I have plenty of time to do that. Today, I am busy, busy doing nothing.

hello, there you are

ok so i'm officially having an attack of the crazies. I am transcribing and I'm missing some words in Farsi. I get frustrated. and then bam, like dominoes, it all collapses. oh what superb reasoning skills I have in my anxiety. I don't understand my language, what kind of interviewer will I be? I'm going to fuck it all up and my participants will hate me. I don't think I'm doing the research that I say I'm doing.. What the fuck am I doing here? How'd I even get this far without someone realizing my incompetence? I can't even finish my final project. I'm going to fail dissertation and live in a trash can.

i thought i would but i don't

I thought I would miss Facebook. I never intended to log off forever, I just needed a break. I figure the distance between me and Facebook would help me realize the great things and want to come back.

Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and blows up the bonfire. -Francois de la Rouchefoucauld


And so it is the case with Facebook. I took some time away and realized, Facebook is no great love. In addition to it wasting my time, it wasn't adding anything to my life. I became active when the Iranian elections started because I wanted to spread the word. It was also a great source of information. Iranians all over the world united. 


I still think Iranians on Facebook can do a lot of good, and do. I have just realized that I need to concentrate on other things. Instead of taking hours to find news links, I could be writing a high-quality book that can change people's minds about Iranian women once and for all. I know that is a tall order, but who am I if I don't make tall orders? All I can do is try my best, and I will forever find peace in that regardless of the outcome. 


I think Facebook is fun, and can be a great way to keep in touch with people. I do miss some of the people. And I miss being able to put something out there and have people respond. Like now, I need a place to stay in Los Angeles for four weeks this summer. I could put the word out on Facebook and maybe I'd find someone. Maybe not. 


In the end, the hassles began to outweigh the benefits. I felt creepy, like I knew things I wasn't supposed to know and vice versa...and the automatic opt-in privacy invasions were getting annoying. 


I am starting to realize my contribution to this movement will be my writing and I have to do everything to focus on developing my skills in that. Everything in life has prepared me for this moment. 


I can see clearly now, the rain is gone.
I can see all obstacles in my way.
Here is the rainbow I've been praying for.
It's gonna be a bright, bright, sunshiny day.
-Bob Marley


It's not going to be all sunshine and flowers. It's going to be raw and difficult and seemingly impossible at times, and I will want to tear my hair out. But I feel stronger than I have ever felt. I have the most amazing friends and family and a wonderful bonfire that keeps burning brighter every second... 

I love Rebecca Traister

A nice girl's guide to getting ahead

Debate over whether women should act more like men, or vice versa, ignores that we all could use a better balance

BY REBECCA TRAISTER

2 things about writing that i've learned

as I reflect back on this journey so far, two quotes stand out with respect to writing. One is from the technical writer. I was talking about the format for dissertation and how I want it to look like a book. She said it doesn't matter if it looks like a book now or not, I had to revise it for publishing no matter what. It reinforced that writing is a snapshot of that moment in time, thus why torture myself with perfectionism? and on a similar vein, why be attached to anything I write? It's a passing thought, in the breeze, I have lots of ideas, some stink, some are good. Why be attached to any particular one?

The second quote from a graduate student who worked at the writing center on campus. I had it all printed out, was going through it with her, and super-anxious at the news I had just received that my proposal may not be accepted. I was talking about how I printed it out for the Writing Center and it helped me to see it printed. She said yes, you gotta print it, then she said you can do this. you know this. You have the tools, you know what your issues are (parallel structure, organization, wordiness, prepositions), now just go through and find them. So that's what I did. I went through it with a fine tooth comb. She also encouraged me to read it out loud to myself and that helped a lot. She taught me there was no magic trick to this, it was just about spending the time to go through, revise, resubmit, etc.

peace

This has been a roller coaster, and the adventure's just beginning. Sent off the proposal Thursday night, my advisor had written me Friday morning say the writing was excellent and it was clear I worked hard on it.

DAMN right I worked hard on it. I worked so fucking hard on this. I wrote, re-wrote, edited, and researched, like I've never done before. When I found out the news I screamed. I jumped around. I cried. I danced like a madwoman. I didn't know what to do with myself. I love the feeling of achieving goals but there was something surreal about achieving this one in such a short time frame. Half the time I didn't think I could pull it off.

My final draft has now been accepted. I will send it out to committee members, they have two weeks to read it, then we meet in mid-May. My project's really coming together and I'm excited. The more I had to justify it, the stronger my position became. I am so proud to be a woman. All around the world women have fought for and achieved change.

Crossing boundaries. So much of my life has been about crossing boundaries. What else can you expect from a child who had lived in three different continents by the age of 6? I learned from a young age how similar people were, how different people were, and how to relate to everyone on some level. I learned to switch cultures at will; I learned to play the game. That's why when my advisor tells me to move activists statements down in my paper I comply. I can look like them, talk like them. But I'll never be one of them. I will move the activist part, yes, I will.. I will play by their rules while the fire burns within. I am capable of saying yes, I will do it that way, but as soon as I take ownership, like when it hopefully can be published, I will make my own rules.  But for now I will play their game, grinning to myself the whole way. No one can make me be untrue to myself.

Now I am determined to do more than cross boundaries; I want to transcend them, I want to shake them up. I want to fly. I want to relate to anyone, anywhere, at any time. I want to relinquish my fears, insecurities, and anxieties as much as possible. Life is just too damn short. I just turned 30 and I love it. I take a stand against our youth-obsessed culture to assert that I love my body more than ever, our bodies are miracles no matter what size, shape, color, etc, they are. I love my gray hairs. I refuse to give in to patriarchal and youthful standards of beauty. Plus, at 30, I have the pleasure of knowing that I have created exactly the life for myself that I want.

Yes there were times, I'm sure you knew, when I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I grew tall and did it MY way. -Frank Sinatra
This was one of those times, definitely too much to chew, and I spit the doubt out with style (except toward the end where I felt myself becoming monster-like from lack of sleep, but I made it after all!) This is one of those times I call growth. Just as getting through hard times together can strengthen a friendship, getting through hard times makes my love for self more. I earned my self-confidence.

fuck

got the worst news ever yesterday, that despite all my work my advisor may not have time to look at the final draft in time for my meeting. I'm working my ass off but i'm running out of batteries man. I can't keep this up much longer. I'm on the (hopefully final) edit stage. I'm so frustrated and angry I could cry and shout, but I don't really have the time.

hmmm

Usually, I do feel better when I hand something off. I'm not sure why this time, it's not the case. You'd think I'd be grateful I have a few days to let someone else worry about it. But now I'm second guessing myself. Should I have taken out that weak section? How well can one proofread at 3 am?

Plus, I'm so ready to know what this advisor thinks. I am sure he will have a lot of feedback, but what I really want to know is his overall take. Do I get my point across? I will be forever working on details, as long as I write, probably, but I really hope the big picture is good. I wonder if he will think my data collection is too extensive for a dissertation?

I wish I could take the day off but I need to tend to some things I've been neglecting. I think I'll stop at 5 though, I need some kind of break.

I am embracing my identity as an Iranian-American woman. I love my body, its curves and softness. I am starting to become who I've always wanted to be. I am grateful that my career exploration brought me to where I am now, and I still laugh when I remember I was a computer programmer. I can't imagine doing anything else. I am learning to love and be vulnerable, and let people in. I get scared shitless sometimes. I am learning to adore my desires.  I want to fly.

what?

I feel numb. I don't even know which way is up, down, sideways anymore. Is there such thing as writing overload? I just sent a draft to advisor #2, this'll be the last round of major revisions before the meeting. I hope he responds asap, I'm barely making deadlines as it is. I'm still wired so I hope I'm still able to sleep. It is a sense of release though, when a draft is handed off. I think it has something to do with the fact that it's up to the universe now.

milestones

I received the official word that comprehensive exams have been accepted:

You are now officially a doctoral candidate...Your doctoral candidacy period will be marked by high expectations for intellectual autonomy and self-motivation. Your advisor and supervisory committee will continue to guide and mentor you, but increasingly their focus will be on evaluating your readiness to make independent contributions to your discipline. This period may be fundamentally different than the earlier phases of your doctoral studies, which makes it simultaneously more exciting and more challenging. I encourage you to take full advantage of this stage of your doctoral career and immerse yourself in focused research and scholarly activities.

AMEN!! This paragraph is like music to my ears. I don't care much about the title, but what it means. I have been waiting for dissertation since I decided to get a PhD and I want nothing more than to immerse myself into my research. No matter how late I have to stay up tonight, I am determined to get a draft to advisor #2 by the time I lay me down to sleep.

sometimes you just gotta let it go

I think I'm giving up on the dream of consistency. It's a nice thought, consistency. But I've realized that so many things in my life cannot be made consistent, no matter what I do. There's certain things that I am gravely consistent about, sure, such as eating breakfast. I have generally managed to take care of my responsibilities pretty well, and I have taken on a lot. But eating healthy, for example? Spurts. Motivation, i.e. working hard and procrastinating? Spurts. Similar to the fact that there are certain times in my life where I am unable to sleep without outside intervention, I have to embrace this tendency. Instead of looking at it as a lack of consistency, it is a willingness and passion to step deep into who I am and what I want to express. 

I've been reflecting and having so many thoughts, so many ideas now that I am fairly confident I will be able to propose in May. It becomes more real every second. 

better than never

I got off to a late start this morning. I was feeling anxious again. I'm not sure why. I still have a lot to do, but it's much more manageable. The hard parts of the proposal are over. I am shaky about my literature review, the women's empowerment part and its relevance. But oh well, I'm giving advisor #2 the final say on that. Despite my late start, I wrote/edited for about 13 hours, or something like that. I moved to the bedroom and carved out a comfortable desk on my bed. I love the view of Midwestern tree branches and the sky as I'm writing.I swear, nature makes me write faster especially when the windows are open. However, windows open on a Friday night when you live near campus, not so much. I heard hordes of drunk guys screaming. Their shouts/chants were impossible to make out, yet somehow they did it in unison. I wasn't amused by that shit when I was in college. Although, I will admit to a few loud drunk nights on the town, like singing Little Mermaid songs at the top of our lungs in New York City at 2 am. So, I suppose I'm a hypocrite. 

I'm so excited that I got approved to propose in May!! This means graduation on time!! And collecting data this summer..and peace of mind. I can't wait to get this project started. The more I delve into the research on Iranian women, the more I want to stand with my sisters and fight. The more I want to understand my role in this transnational feminist movement. I keep thinking of ways I can improve my writing, join forces with my sisters, spread the message, etc...

twists & turns

This past weekend was amazing. Absolutely wonderful. It's been hard to get back into the swing of things, but I am getting there. Especially with the great news I got today. I had been worried about receiving permission to propose in May, but I cornered the prof, he read it while I was there, and okayed me doing it in May!! I'm so excited but also nervous about all the work I have do this month. I have to incorporate his edits, my pilot study, the technical writer's feedback, my other advisor's feedback..all by the end of The Month.

My project has changed course somewhat. I really wanted to talk to women activists who had been part of the women's rights movement in Iran. But like other Iranian activists, they live mostly in Europe due to refugee/immigration policies I believe. So, I will interview Iranians here and I'm thinking I will try to do some with activists abroad, maybe telephone interviews. The main thing now is getting my proposal in shape, sending a draft to my other advisor tomorrow, and scheduling my meeting. Once I propose, I can worry about funding. It would be so damn awesome to get funding to go to Europe but that is a stretch. It's hard to fund international projects. But I'm learning to SELL it so who fucking knows!?!?! My committee is amazing, and they truly care about my professional development. They are tough. They are going to challenge me and push me and drive me insane at times.

These next few weeks are going to be intense. All my work has to be done by the end of April. I love that I got permission. I am scared shitless that I got permission. I guess it's time to dive in.

yup

the last few days have been a blur. must sleep now. I'm starving. I just sent it off to one of my advisors. All three chapters. 62 pages, this draft. holy shit. I don't even know where the damn document came from. there's still a long, long way to go. one of my advisors has to look at it, give me feedback. I'm meeting with a technical writer soon. Then I send to my other advisor, then more feedback, and more sending. But for a few days, it's done. I'm still shooting for summer, so I can collect data in July.

I'm tired in every way possible. I lack the energy to move and the strength to make a decision between my raging hunger and the heavy weight of exhaustion. I'm still stick with bronchitis, and my viral infection.

But I feel good. Better than good. I want to dance. I can't, of course, but I dance in my head. I love love love. And lots of amazing fun coming up this weekend, I need it!!

rushed

I estimate that I have worked on my proposal about, oh, 40 hours in the last 5 days. I wanted to have an abbreviated proposal (20-25 pages), but it's turning into a traditional proposal, with the typical length of 60 pages. I have 50 pages at this point and I estimate I will have around 60 when I'm done. This is good, means less work later on as I am writing my dissertation. I'm also a bit stressed that this is still not done. I am really hoping to have a draft sent out to my advisors tomorrow. I'm cutting it off awfully close for this semester. Eek! I'm not going to think about that, just do my best and keep going. I literally cannot spend more time on this than I am currently doing, so I can't stress. Can't stress can't stress. Yesterday, my mom asked me what I was doing to celebrate my 30th birthday. Proposal, I replied. Finishing my proposal draft by tomorrow would be the best gift I could give myself.

Crunch time

The next two days are crucial, as a draft of my proposal (in which I now have very rough drafts of each section) is due Sunday night. I'm getting so close, so close, and it's time to focus. Focus like I have never focused before.

Feminism and capitalism

I'm fired up, intellectually speaking, from reading this article: Iceland: the world's most feminist country. Iceland has decided to ban strip clubs and they outlawed prostitution last year. Basically, the message it sends to society is: "women are not for sale." Wow. It brings up a really interesting issue to me. As the article indicates, there is debate over whether stripping/prostitution are empowering or degrading.

I never liked it when prostitution laws were enforced, partly because sex workers already have so much to deal with, why also add cops breathing down their necks to their burdens? I always thought it should be legal because they needed the money and were not hurting anyone other than possibly themselves. And I don't think the government has a right to step in when it comes to protecting yourself from yourself. Also, if the industry was regulated, it could be much safer.

Then I read this article and realize my previous perception of prostitution was based on a capitalist system. In a free market, everything is a commodity. In poverty, people do desperate things. The wide gap between rich and poor doesn't help either, because it sets up the former to exploit the latter. (Is it really necessary that a CEO make 50 times what the average worker does??) But what if poverty doesn't warrant the need for desperate measures? What happens then?

That is the case with Iceland. Of course, there are a lot of factors at play, like the women in power. I am just saying that the two go hand in hand: (sexual) objectification and economic equality. I am starting to think socialism creates a much more civilized society. A quick google search proves me right about Iceland: It has one of the smallest gaps between rich and poor and one of the lowest rates of poverty in Europe.

God, Iceland is so ahead of us it's depressing. Their prime minister is lesbian, and people here launch massive campaigns to deny gay and bisexual rights. 

I especially love the quote in the article, because it confirms what I have thought for a long time. We need more women in power. Men have done this for too long, we need a more balanced perspective:

Once you break past the glass ceiling and have more than one third of female politicians, something changes. Feminist energy seems to permeate everything.
-Halldórsdóttir Kolbrún, the Iceland politician who proposed the ban

Morning musings

What a great way to start my morning, reading about how Iran has executed 388 of the 724 people who have been executed worldwide (excluding China) in the last year. Congrats, mullahs. More than HALF of the executions worldwide (except China, where executions are estimated in the thousands) occurred in Iran! The Islamic Regime always fucking does this, they always decimate the strongest people, those willing to stand up. And yet the movement never dies. I think passion for justice and equality is stronger than fear, and will prevail.

On another note, I think I am having a feminist awakening of sorts. I feel comfortable and beautiful in my own skin and I feel less and less bound to societal expectations. I love getting older and wiser. Life is too damn short to not be who you are.

Weekend one

Okay, first weekend. It sounds crazy, but I am up to 40 pages. That's really misleading because a LOT of it needs to be cut. I have so many pages only because I have been living, breathing, writing about, women's empowerment, especially Iranian women, forever. I have over 130 scientific sources on women's empowerment across the globe and over 100 on Iranian women. When I first began researching these topics in spring 2008, I arrogantly assumed no one had studied these topics. "There are no studies on women's empowerment process. Research on Iranian women is nonexistent." Grad school has given me more humility.

I now have a very rough layout of my literature review and still have to dive deeper into the methods. Finish proposal this semester, finish proposal this semester. Can it be done? I wish I could just not leave my apartment for a week and finish it. That's the  best way to write, for me at least. I like thinking of myself as a crazy introverted writer who can't leave her apartment. I imagine staying in my apartment for years and eventually people trying to coax me out. By that time, I behave and resemble a technologically advanced caveman, clinging my laptop protectively.

Anywho, back to 5 am mornings for rest of March and April. I will finish proposal this semester. I will finish proposal this semester. I think this blog's going to help. I will turn to it when I have writer's block to get my juices going and maybe jot my negative thoughts out. Also, my reflections as I'm writing. I think something is wrong with comments, but that's okay. Blogging makes me feel like I have witnesses. Just knowing I have witnesses will make me feel more guilty when I don't make progress, and a little properly guided fear of guilt never hurt anyone!

I have to stop feeling in awe of Iranian women activists. If I idealize them, isn't that the same as objectification? Either way, it will muddy my view, and I want to see my participants as clearly as possible. Admiring them but seeing them as human. I'll have to work on that. I want to be true to my participants.

Women's empowerment in random places

I love advice columns, and I recently discovered Dan Savage's blog. His straightforward, open-minded advice has helped me grow as a therapist and discover my own views about sexuality, relationships, etc. I have been digging through his archives. One week, he requested his audience to send in their advice to heterosexual fifteen-year-old girls. I was struck by one woman's response:

What do I wish I knew at age 15? That I should live my life as if I would never have a man. I wish I had known that I should be financially self-sufficient, that I should cultivate interests in things I enjoy, that I should grow friendships that will stand the test of time. I wish I'd known then that I should make a life for myself that I enjoy and find fulfilling. And then if a guy comes along who can complement, not substitute for, my life he is the gravy not the whole damn meatloaf.

And I wish I had known, and this is important, that a good, emotionally healthy man will appreciate me for being a human being with a full life outside of any sexual or romantic relationship. Any man who expects less is not someone I want to waste a Saturday night on, let alone the rest of my life.

Joyful In Baltimore

From: http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=21182

I love this lesson for women and I wish I could shout it from the rooftops. I realize in some places, it is more possible than in others for women to assert their independence. 

If I am serious about women's empowerment being a part of my research, counseling practices, and identity, I need to have an understanding of what I think it is. How is empowerment reflected in her statement? I think one of our greatest strengths as women is the ability to be relational. Not that I mean all women are relational: I'm making generalizations of course. This is an asset that can SAVE THE WORLD, truly. However, like anything else, we can go overboard as women. We can try to please others, dumb down our intelligence (I have done it myself), or think we need a rescuer. I believe there is an inverse relationship between empowerment and the ability to tolerate disrespect. As a woman becomes more empowered, she becomes more aware and less tolerant of sexist bullshit. Maybe I'm touching on a larger aspect here: the ability to tolerate sexist bullshit. I'm sitting here, reflecting on the research, and thinking, hmmm, what happens when women in oppressed situations become empowered in one phase of life? Like when women in Iran, in the last thirty years, have become the majority of college-educated youth? They become less tolerant of sexist bullshit. That's what education does, it shows you there is another way.

Everything I think seems so up in the air right now, I don't know which way is up. I have a feeling I have to get used to this feeling. I guess I'll figure it out as I go.

Here I go

I am finally at the moment that I have been waiting for. For years, and maybe all of my life, I have waited for this moment. The opportunity to take all that I have learned, and all that I am, and apply it to the biggest project of my life, whose topic makes my soul sing. The strength and stories of Iranian women who have risked everything to fight for their rights.

So why am I so scared? I feel like Maria, going to the von Trapps. Would they accept her as their nanny? Would they welcome her, would they send her away? "I've often longed for adventure, to do the things I never dared....so why am I so scared?" The conclusion she comes to is to act confident, act like she knows, and I know that is what I have to do too.

Because for all my experiences in qualitative research, my reading in the area of Iranian women, my project in Tehran in 2008, my previous writing, all of that doesn't mean shit. There is still so much I don't know, that I have to learn. There is still so much I have to experience. Am I the right person to take on a project like this? I want this to become a book that represents the essence of Iranian women. Who am I to represent this essence? I grew up here, can I truly understand? Is my Farsi good enough? So many doubts, so many demons. But I have to persevere.

I am Maria, I am the prince, fighting his way through a thorny, dangerous forest for the princess that awaits him. But my prize is not a person, or possession, depending on how you interpret the fairy tale. My prize is being a small part of a movement that is vibrant and historical and beautiful and powerful and impactful and inspiring. My prize is being able to raise the voices of some of the strongest women I have ever heard of. My prize is doing my part to spread the contagious phenomenon that is women's empowerment. We are taught as women we must smile, we must do this, to that to be considered proper ladies. In some countries it is worse than others. But women everywhere are rising up and demanding to be treated with equality and respect. What is it about movements that helps individual women make a shift from "me" to "we"? When does something become a social movement?

I am excited and thrilled and scared. I feel unworthy and confident and transparent and humble and overwhelmed. I have to do this as best as I can. I move forward.