lesbian
resistancesinister wisdom 48

Sinister Wisdom 48
Winter 1992/1993
Publisher: Sinister Wisdom, Inc.
Editor: Elana Dykewomon

Editorial readers and advisors: Caryatis Cardea, Cath Thompson, Denise
Leto, Jasmine Marah, Laura Munter-Orabona, Lisa Carlin, Monifa Ajanaku,
Sauda Burch, SJ Kahn, Terri Fredlund
Contributing editors: Gloria Anzaldua, Irena Klepfisz, Melanie Kaye/
Kantrowitz
Typists and proofreaders: Angela Koenig, Cath Thompson, Caryatis
Cardea, Susan Goldberg, Susan Levinkind
Office help, fundraising, correspondence, ads and accounting: Caryatis
Cardea, Frayda Garfinkle, Jasmine Marah, Laura Munter-Orabona, Michal
Brody, SJ Kahn, Susan Levinkind
Thanks to Bobby Rothschild and Rebecca Kutlin of Tamed Technology
Distribution and mailing crew: Angela Koenig, Anna Livia, Beverly
Chandler, Caryatis Cardea, Dolphin Waletzky, Jamie Lee Evans, Jane
Marhanka, Jasmine Marah, Judith Masur, Laura Munter-Orabona, Lisa
Rudman, Michele Nichols, SJ Kahn, Susan Levinkind, V.R. Hammond
Fulfillment: Dolphin Waletzky
Volunteer Coordinator: Susan Levinkind
Reader for the Womyn's Braille Press: Judy Freespirit
Cover art: Karen E. Johansson, pen and ink on illustration board. or am
strongly drawn to the enduring strength and beauty, power and tendernessof trees. A metaphor of our lives."

SIN1STER WISDOM, founded 1976
Former editors and publishers: Harriet Ellenberger (aka Desmoines)
and Catherine Nicholson (1976-81)
Michelle Cliff and Adrienne Rich (1981-83)
Michaele Uccella (1983-84)
Melanic Kaye/Kantrowitz (1983-87)
Copyright © 1992 Sinister Wisdom, 11K. All rights reserved to individual artists and authors.
ISSN : 0196-1853. Printed in the U.s.A. on recycled paper.

Sinister Wisdom, Inc .• PO Box 3252 • Berkeley CA 94703 • US

Winter 1992/93 1___________________________________Contents
3
5
6
13
16

Elana Dykewomon • Notes for a Magazine
Upcoming Issues
Terri Fredlund· How We Decide (essay)
Susan Rosenberg • Links (narrative)
Joanna Kadi • ShajaaCat (fiction)§§§
29 Kathleen O'Donnell • For Thelma and Louise (poem)
31 Janice Gutman • Speech on Hate Crimes (speech)
36 Naomi Guilbert • curse poem (poem)
37 Amber L. Katherine • Lesbian Politics and the National
Lesbian Conference (essay)§§§
44 Sauda Burch • Excerpt from a novel in progress (mixedform)
52 Lisa Kenney • Some Notes on Resistance (essay)
57 Susan Rosenberg • Defining Moment (narrative)
60 Laura Whitehorn • Fourteen Days, Loss of Privileges andAfter the Confiscation of GCN #2 (poems)
61 Jo Ann Starr • A Society of Captive Women (essay)§§§
63 Sheila Gilhooly & barbara findlay • pieces de resistance(mixed form)
74 L.A. Dyer • If Only Resistance Counted as Forbearance on
Student Loans (essay)
79 Lenore Baeli Wang • On Killing Insects (poem)
81 Jasmine Marah • The Process is the Product (narrative)
92 Irena Klepfisz • The Politics of Snails: A Parable (narrative)

2 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

95
97
102
107

Dawn Rudd • The Enemy (poem)
Toni L. Cassista • A Question of Civil Rights (essay)
Susan Stinson • Sabotage (narrative)
Denise Nico Leto • And Everything We Do? (essay)§§§
111 Tracy Becker • Speak (poem)
112 Monifa Ajanaku • Lesbians Who Have Never Voluntarily
Had Sex With Men (essay and survey)
117 Janet/Giovanna Capone • Rape & Empowerment: Three
Pictures (poem)
119 Kelly J. Cogswell • Sonnets for God (poems)

§§§
123
129
132
136

Emily Levy • A Moment of No Silence (review)
Letters to Sinister Wisdom
Contributors' Notes
Announcements and Classified Ads§§§
ART
Cover Karen Johansson • pen & ink
12 Diane F. Germain • untitled (pen & ink)
15 Terry McClain • You Can Be a Prisoner, Too (mixed media)
51 Xenia· foye (photograph)
30 Kadeth Pozzesi • Womyns Hands Re-making the World(pen & ink)
80 Janice Hansen • Repercussions (pen & ink)
91 Jasmine Marah • untitled (pen & ink)
94 Billie Miracle • untitled
101 Diane F. Ger.main • untitled (pen & ink)
118 Billie Miracle • untitled (pen & ink)
139 Kathleen DeBold • untitled (cartoon)

Winter 1992/93 3- - - - - - -_ _ _ _ Notes for a Magazine

To resist implies someone is trying to get you to actin their interest
and not your own. More than once I've heard Audre Lorde say, if
you're not using your own power, you can be sure there's someone
out there using it against you in your name.
The lesbians writing in this issue envision taking power in many
ways: some advocate armed struggl~, others believe in challenging
systems from within, some speak for coalition politics, some forseperatism, still others imagine resistance as changing the processes
between us. I admire and encourage this fantastic lesbian resilience.
Still, I wrestle with despair. The news is so bad. The news fromeverywhere - Somalia, Berkeley. The increasing violence against
women and lesbians. The overt and subtle daily horrors of racism.
I feel my frustration on both a personal and global scale. We say:spit in the face of those who oppress you, plant a seed. But spit at
the Serbian army? Seeds in radioactive ground?
I know "they" want me to feel this way - powerless, ready totake the first compromise that comes around. (Personally, I thinkgiving in is voting for Bill Clinton. In 1982 a friend of mine had abutton on her bulletin board: don't vote, it just encourages them.
I don't know what she did in 1992.)
Compromise. I compromise and feel compromised. Every day
I watch us give in - my friends, my allies, lesbians I admire,
myself. We call it survival, getting along; anyway it's passe to makea scene. We say: don't let your anger eat you, make you ineffective.
But I know that we have many (and different) privileges, and we're
unlikely to choose an analysis that undermines our privilege. We
want to fight back, to be on the side of "good," but not be inconvenienced by our rebellions. It's too easy to get hooked on the slogansof our time that boil down to: you deserve it, baby, indulge yourself. We
are constantly seduced by capitalism and reduced by fear. The
smallest rebellion is seen as outrageous radicalism. These days it
seems like you can be accused of going out on a limb while you're
hugging the tree trunk for safety.
I think this parable from Julia Penelope's article "The Mysteryof Lesbians" bears repeating. Julia recorded what Emily Levine
told her: "In carpentry, when one has several boards that she has
to cut down to the same size, each succeeding board must be4 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancemeasured, n.ot by matching it with the board just cut, but with the
FIRST board cut. By measuring the length of each board against thefirst one, the carpenter insures that every board ends up the samelength. If she makes the mistake of measuring each successiveboard against the one cut just before it, she'll discover, when she
finishes, tha t none of the boards are the same length. As the numberof boards cut between the first one and the last one increases, so,too, does the extent of the error in measurement. Similarly theindividual compromises we've made ... moved us imperceptibly
away from radicalism ..."Lesbians I love use wrinkle cream, diet, work for the Democrats, keep their stock in GE, ignore disabled home-bound dykes,
pay their taxes. (If we're not tax resistors, our money is taken fromus and used against all the causes we support. Imagine if every
lesbian put her tax money into the lesbian community instead of
into the U.S. treasury. I pay taxes, and consider it the most immoral
thing I do/have done in my life.)
Lesbians I love fight back, organize, recycle, write, circulate
petitions, call each other up with encouragement, start lesbian
funds, go to jail for their beliefs. We all do what we can - give in
where we cannot imagine our best interest is in fighting; fightwhere we think we can be effective. It doesn't feel like enough, but
it has to be enough. It has to be at least the start of enough.
Still starting in the '90s? Resistance is a life-long series of examinations of power and privilege. Really, I don't want to live my life
resisting - I want to live my life creating, loving, building. But I
live in a world where my creativity is, by definition, resistancewhich means, in order to act I must always know I'm acting against
something as well as for something. This isn't fun. Acting against
the forces of fascism is wearing. Always seeking outlet, constantly
blocked, maneuvering.
It grates on me every night when I go to sleep and every
morning when I get up and when I go to work. If it grates on you,make a noise. Make the loudest noise you can. Use your strongest
words. Don' t be afraid of your anger or your mind. Don't be afraid. "The Mystery of Lesbians" appeared in Lesbian Ethics, Vol. 1, Nos. 1,2 and 3,198485; as an edited whole in For Lesbians Only - A Separatist Anthology, ed . by Sarah
Lucia Hoagland and Julia Penelope, 1988, Onlywomen Press.

Winter 1992/93 5

to make mistakes. Keep acting, keep demanding, keep your imagination alive. It's live imagination that changes us and the world.
Now is always the time .
...when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid.
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.
- Audre Lordefrom "A Litany for Survival," in The Black Unicorn- - - -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Vpcoming Issues#49 The Lesbian Body: An exploration and reclamation - will beout in April.
#50 Lesbian Ethics: What are our ethics? What does an ethical lesbian
look/ act like etc.? Is there a lesbian code of behavior? How do wetreat each other as lesbians? What is our responsiblity to lesbiancommunities? How do we handle abuse within the lesbian community? Is there a lesbian politic? How do we deal with judgement? What about ostracism, shunning and trashing? How do we
impose judgement? What is the difference between influence andimposition? How does racial, ethnic or class identity affect yourethical outlook? What specific ethical challenges do you facebecause of your lesbianism, politics, etc.? How do you meet thesechallenges? What principles (if any) would you like lesbians toagree on for a system of ethics and in what ways are thoseprinciples specifically lesbian? Can you be ethical and have fun/be sexual? Editors: Caryatis Cardea and Sauda Burch. Deadline isFebruary I, 1993.

6 sinister wisdom #48, ResistanceTerri Fredlund

How We Decide

In order to effectively oppose oppression, we need to know whichof our actions are resistance, which serve to strengthen ourselvesinternally and collectively, and which are symptoms of being caught
up in petty bullshit. It's not always easy to tell the difference.
What do we and don't we consider to be resistance? How widelyand how narrowly should we define it?
Is being a lesbian in and of itself resistance?
Is remembering and describing our victimization resistance?
Is taking revenge resistance?
Is envisioning using magic that we don't possess resistance?
Is not giving in to self-destructive behavior resistance? Is selfdestructive behavior resistance?
Is recycling resistance?
Some of these could be considered internal resistance, or building the necessary foundation of strength for a more direct, immediate outer resistance.
Are only nonviolent actions, which incorporate the desired
goal in its means, resistance? For example, planting a military tankwith flowers to render it useless rather than putting sugar in thegas tank, as was debated in 1983 at the planning meeting for theGerman Wimmin's Resistance Camp:To what extent is it helpful to explore the politics of theoreticalactions? Reality often presents a different set of variables. The
German Resistance Camp wimmin never got close enough to atank to do anything to it, but did occupy a crane and succeed inhalting military construction for an entire day.
If oppression is achieved through violence, is all violence oppression? Can violent acts be resistance? Is the violence of the oppressed
different from that of the oppressors? Who has the right to violencein patriarchy? Does a womon have a right to defend herself if she's. The purposes of this camp were to resist the stationing of Cruise missiles specifically,and patriarchy in all its forms, as well as to work toward creating new ways of living.

Winter 1992/93 7

attacked by a rapist? Does a group of people have a right to riot ifthey are being continuously attacked by armed racists? Will oppressive conditions ever change if the oppressed never use violence? Who is responsible if the oppressors escalate the violence?
If one of the oppressors' strategies is criminalizing and incarcerating resistors, is not getting caught resistance? Are only secretacts of sabotage resistance?
Is withdrawing our support from the system resistance? Is
disregarding the rules of the oppressors res is tance? If so, is stealing
resistance? Is whether or not we break the law a measure of thestrength of our resistance?
Is becoming ourselves resistance? Is creating our own spaces,
so we can become ourselves, resistance? Is setting them up so weare safe and at ease resistance? Is setting them up in a way that
excludes less privileged wimmin so we can maintain our own
comfort level resistance? For example: wimmin's music festivals
which, after all these years, are still not adequately accessible todisabled workers and festival goers.
Is an internal process, in and of itself, resistance? Are external
actions, alone, resistance? Is it resistance when we're just following
instincts? Or is resistance only an internal process combined withexternal actions?
Is it possible to find a definition of resistance we can all agree
upon, such as: "An individual or collective act of courage, strengthand integrity in response to violence, threat of harm, wrongdoingor untruth"?
Does even the best general definition inappropriately include or
exclude some cases? Rather than attempt a definition, perhaps it's
more useful to consider context, as in:·resistance to what? To oppression (of course!). Namely a system of unjust distribution of resources,
opportunities, privileges, recognition; and the oppressive acts that
hold it in place: manipulation, intimidation, lies of omission, fabrications, hatred, disrespect, invalidation of our reality, supremist
belief systems, and violence. Violence, or the threat of violence, isthe means through which all oppression is achieved and maintained. These acts are committed by individuals with names andaddresses, and by the institutions these people are a part of.

8 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

One might think that the more an individ ual has been oppressed,
the more she would understand about oppression, and the more shewould be able to resist and form alliances. But ironically, the effects ofbeing oppressed also help create the conditions for continuing oppression. Namely, fear of the consequences of being our best selves;
fear to act; self hatred; mistrust of our own perceptions, talents andstrengths; identification and agreement with the oppressors.
Consequently, we find ourselves not only fighting the systems
and institutions of oppression (such as corporations or the school
system) and their acts of violence and injustice, we also find ourselves fighting our own unconscious internalization and perpetuation of oppression.
These three spheres -oppressive systems orinstitutions; specificoppressive acts; internalized oppression - provide the context for
our resistance and our examination of it. The issues involved areinterrelated and overlap in infinite variety. For example: fighting
invalidation of my reality while someone is calling me on my ableism, is not resistance, though it may feel like it at the time. Can weagree that not everything that feels like resistance is resistance?
It's not always easy to distinguish between resistance and complicity. For example: If the patriarchy keeps us hooked through our needfor money to survive, is it resistance to become as self-sufficient as
possible, even if we are impoverished? Is living this way resistance,
knowing that one of the main ways patriarchy keeps wimmin down
is through poverty?
Is it resistance to be in the system in order to extract the money
we need to create change? Is it resistance to work within the systembecause we can't wait for the revolution?
Is running a wimmin's press in order to not be silenced, resistance? Even if the press buys and uses a computer which was
manufactured in bad working conditions by poorly paid wimmin
in Asia, whose health is ruined by age 25?
Almost all of us are oppressed or oppressor at different times.
What happens when privilege and oppression overlap? The phrase"unlearning oppression" is easily embraced, easily adopted as agoal by lesbians with good intentions . More difficult is the task of
distinguishing between individual personality traits and learned
oppressive behavior.

Winter 1992/93 9This task is a major challenge we face in our work, yet we havelittle to guide us. The phrase, "If it feels oppressive, it is oppressive," isn't always reliable. Recall for instance the ever-recurringcries of "reverse discrimination." Recall that many batterers reallyfeel that they are defending themselves. As Estelle Crone once said,"You can feel threatened without actually being in any danger." At
the same time, as Monifa Ajanaku points out, many things lesbians
do or don't do, say or remain silent about, have actual negative
effects on other lesbians.
Our emotional well being is necessary in developing to our fullpotential, both as individuals and as a community. We also needemotional honesty and clarity. How can we maintain a balance
between being accountable to other lesbians, and not being manipulated by lesbians for whom the feeling of being victimized isreally a vehicle for something else? How can we express our feelings without being hurtful or manipulative? In evaluating feelings, how can we balance openness and compassion with wariness? We need to be able to tell the difference between politicalissues and our emotional responses, and not confuse the two. We
need to avoid taking our old hurt and frustrations out on one
another. We are a movement, a community of wimmin who haveall been wounded, some much more severely than others. We havesuffered pain and damage for which we are not responsible, but weare responsible for our own healing, and for supporting each otherin healing. How can we resolve conflicts of needs in ways that are
fair to all involved? Coming from backgrounds that differ in culture
and privilege, how can each of us become worthy of the respect,
trust and understanding of other lesbians?
Individuals and groups will each have their own criteria for
determining political validity; how can we coordinate our efforts
and priorities? What is the right mix of collective and individual
resistance? What really matters?
What matters is to educate and challenge ourselves to live by
increasingly inclusive politics. By inclusive, I mean not only of as
many different kinds of wimmin as there are, but also of the different
conditions and nuances that affect wimmin's lives and politics.
Wimmin with differing life choices and experiences can holddiffering, but equally valid, political views. It is presumptuous and10 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancemisogynist to think that we know what is best for other lesbians
and have the right to enforce it. Besides legitimizing policing, thisattitude, by extension, also calls into question our own ability tothink for ourselves.
We need to realize that it is a dyke's actions, rather than her identity, which can harm other dykes. White lesbians can be ignorant, orcommitted to anti-racism. A class privileged dyke can use her privilege and resources to increase access for poorer dykes or she can be
self-centered and arrogant. A lesbian raising a son can respect wirnmin only space and separatists' choice not to give any energy to males,or she can insist on trying to include him in every sphere of lesbian
culture. A hearing lesbian can ignore deaf lesbians or can make theeffort to learn ASL. An SM dyke can have respectful behavior toward
all lesbians or she can be disrespectful and abusive. So can dyke
separatists, so can festival organizers, so can we all.
What matters is to learn each other's stories and understand,rather than label each other. A lesbian who has made even serious
mistakes in the past can have changed and deserves respect, if her
present actions are respectful. Good community depends on ourbeing open and compassionate not only when it's easy and convenient but also when we disagree.
What matters is not to exclude each other through our carelessness orrigidity. There is enough dyke energy to respect and include
each other in ways that can work for all involved. It's not only
possible, but absolutely necessary. Otherwise, we will isolate ourselves from one another to the point that we can't even sit together
in the same room at an event, much less sustain a community or
any viable movement for change.
What matters is having integrity and inspiring each other.
What matters is that our resistance include more than our
individual personal development.
What matters is to persist in the extremely exacting task of resisting in the face of the overwhelming forces that try to keep us down.
What makes it possible for us to resist and keep resisting?
1. The ability to overcome fear. There is much we fear. We areafraid of violence, of ridicule, of lack of money, of not being able tosurvive. We are afraid of incarceration, of rejection by our peers
and family. We are afraid of losing our sanity.

Winter 1992/93 11

We overcome fear by demystifying and learning to deal withwhat we are afraid of. For wimmin learning self-defense, thismeans coming to recognize the dynamics of threatening, manipulative situations, as well as learning simple, powerful, physicaltechniques. For wimmin doing an illegal political action, it means
learning how to respond to police, realizing that we can be strong
and continue political resistance in court and in jail.
2. Success. Taking risks and succeeding gives us self-esteem,
confidence, the strength and incentive to keep trying. It can be speakingup at a meeting and being listened to. It can be telling an obnoxious
and exceedingly tenacious man who is holding one's arm to let go,punching him in the nose when he doesn't, and experiencing thesatisfaction of watching him walk away bleeding and whimpering, as did a disabled student from one of my self-defense classes.
It can be successfully blockading, and speaking to every employeeof, a nuclear power plant. It can be going to court and winning ananti-discrimination law suit.
There's nothing like success.
3. Support. Support gives us the strength to take new risks andgives us validation for our experiences, feelings and thoughts. It
helps us utilize our collective strengths, intelligence and creativity,
as well as helping us deal with hard times and failures. It also helps
develop trust between us.
We can each be individually strong at different times. But
mutual support allows the strength of our resistance, and thequality of our lives, to become more than the sum of our individual
efforts. Our willingness to truly be there for sisters in need is ameasure of the quality of our community.
4. Desperation. Desperation, as in: We've got nothing to lose.
Desperation, as in: We just can't or won't take it any more. Desperation, as in: Nothing's changing and we've jus t got to do something.
Desperation doesn't care about the consequences. It might soundnegative at first, but on second thought, acts of desperation areoften fearless or done regardless of fear. This, combined with a reservoir of justified anger, gives these acts their power.
One day, my friend put her fist under her incestor's chin andsaid, "If you ever touch me again, I'll beat the shit out of you." (Henever did.)12 sinister wisdom #48, ResistanceSometimes, acts of desperation can lead us to break oppressive
rules, allowing us, for example, to scam the government or corporations for survival, rather than continuing to be "wage-earners"
at jobs that threaten our health.
Acts of desperation can be spontaneous, such as breaking a
police ribbon in order to drive a disabled friend to her destination.
They can have explosive energy, as in finally telling off a jerk boss andquitting. An act of desperation can be very empowering. Thoughacts of desperation aren't always well-thought-out, they can be thestart of breaking a cycle of fear, submissiveness and despair.
5. Choosing our battles. By evaluating the risks and our chances,
before acting, we can cut our losses as well as keeping the costs ofresistance within the limits of our ability to cope.
If we want to be able to continue to resist, what should ourpriorities be?
The answer, of course, is, "It depends on the form of oppression
and on the individual variables affecting the one who is resisting."
Each of us can decide for herself, in accountability to others. How
do we deal with all of us making different choices? It doesn't
matter. As long as we act out of integrity and mutual respect.
You decide.

Diane F. Germain
Special thanks to Jasmine Marah and Dolphin aka Julia Trahan for invaluable
editorial assistance.
.

Winter 1992/93 13

Susan Rosenberg

Links"That no degree of pressure will cause us to repudiate our principles does
not in any way lessen the heartbreak we suffer."- Ethel Rosenberg

A s I scanned the obituary of Judge Irving Kaufmann in the New

York Times, I felt my burden lift, ever so slightly. A small but
perceivable shift in the balance of forces that, as they play out,
make human history. Not that his death brought anyone closer tojustice. It didn't. The Rosenbergs have been dead for decades andthat is an unalterable fact. Judge Kaufmann was mandated by thearchitects and beneficiaries of the anti-communist cold war to put
Ethel and Julius Rosenberg to death. Judge Kaufmann agreed to it
before they were convicted. His decision gave new and deadly
meaning to the Queen's cry in Alice in Wonderland, "First the sentence and then the trial."
I grew up hating Judge Kaufmann and having full knowledgeof the injustice of the execution of the Rosenbergs. When I went to
one of the communist party camps for children in 1963 more
people than I can now remember asked me, "are you related?" I
always said no. And that was the truth. When I was 12, I saw themovie Point of Order about Joe McCarthy and Roy Cohn and theHouse UnamericanActivities Committee. I viewed it through very
particular eyes. I knew that it was these men who were responsible
for much of the pain and suffering of many of my parents' friends
as a result of the blacklist. In 1969, after Martin Sob ell, theRosenbergs' co-defendant, was released from federal prison, I
went to a rally to hear him speak. He had been in prison for 18
years, at Alcatraz and Marion. I cried so hard that day. Seeing him
standing on the platform free and alive, but so changed from thepictures I had seen when he first went to jail, crystallized in the
sharpest relief repression and its human cost. When I saw themovie, Daniel, made from the book by E.L.Doctorow, I had to walkout. Even though it was sympathetic and, in some ways, sensitive,
its inaccuracies made me angry and it was too painful. When I saw
it, I was living underground, having been subjected to a new formof repression.

14 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

When I was sentenced and given 58 years for possession of
weapons, on that day standing in front of our judge, I couldn't help
but think of th~ Rosenbergs. The example that was being made ofus with the longest sentence ever given in U.S. history for thepossession of weapons carried a similar point, although it was adifferent time with a different set of conditions and dynamics. But
I thought of them, as everyone in the courtroom gasped. Our lawyers
had said no more than 15 years maximum. They were wrong.
I was held at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Manhattan while on trial, and then while the Bureau of Prisons determined
where to imprison me. When they transferred me it was a cold day
in December. The U.S. Marshals were taking me to Harrisburg, Pa.
to the Bureau of Prison Transport Air Lift. When high security, or
high profile, or "dangerous" prisoners are moved it is a military
operation, with SWAT teams and secrecy in command. I was released
into the custody of the Marshals. I was allowed to put on my own
clothes and then chained. They were so uptight that they handcuffed
my cuffed black box (an additional medieval device that securesthe hands so they're unable to move at all) to a chain that was
handcuffed to a Marshal. They hustled me into an elevator and wewalked through many descending levels of the detention center
into the basement office of the Marshals' service. I was surrounded
by a body of men and was pushed and pulled. We were taking thesecure route to the garage. But as we got to the office the man I waschained to slowed down and said he needed to go to his desk.
Then everything else receded for a split second and time
stopped for me. On the wall was an enormous glass case. There
were three shelves within the case. In the center of it was a blown
up photo of the front page of the N. Y. Daily News. The headline said
"Ethel Fries Today," "Communist Traitors Put To Death," "No
Reprieve." Under the headline was a picture of Ethel Rosenberg
sitting in a car looking out the window with the faintest of smiles
on her face. I looked at the man who was chained to me, and thenback to the case. There were other things in the case I couldn't makeout as well, or identify, except a pair of handcuffs. The man saw me
looking at the case. His face broke into a big grin. He said, "1 was there.
She was one cold bitch. Never shed a tear." If I could have ripped his
throat out.... Then he stopped because it clicked. The name.
He asked, "Your mother?" Before I could answer he said,"Figures." And I looked at him and said, "Yes," and in my heart I
said: in spirit. And then we were gone.

Winter 1992/93 15

You Can Be a Prisoner, Too
mixed media, 1990

Terry McClain16 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Joanna Kadi

Sue sang along with the Lillian Allen tape as she connected thecharges. The moment was too important to allow interruptions, sowhen the telephone rang she kept working and let the machine
take care of it.
Ana's voice filled the room. "The center's having a film anddiscussion tonight for lesbians considering kids," she said. "I know
you're into avoidance but I'm telling you anyway. Just don't get
pissed at me."Sue's heart missed a beat. Great, she thought, the issue we'll
never resolve. She set the timer with steady hands.
At that moment, Layla burst into the room. "Sorry I couldn't
get the phone but I had to write something down before I lost it.
Who called?"
Realizing Sue was in the midst of double-checking the false
bottom of a janitor's bucket, Layla rewound the tape and listened
to the message. Afterward, silence hung in the air.
"Maybe we should go," Layla finally said, chewing thoughtfully on a fingernai1. "It wouldn't be bad to deal with this once andfor al1.""Everything's all set," Sue said brightly. ''We have two hours
and 20 minutes."''When you think about it, we have worked through a lot of ourissues," said Layla,. more confidently than before. "It's kind ofimpressive, really. Class differences, families, sex, housecleaning
standards. Not to mention our respective disgusting little habitsthat drive each other crazy. We only have this one left."
Sue wondered if she should be concerned about Layla's possiblymisguidedoptimism, but all she said was, ''We haven't avoided
it completely. We've made a few jokes about it."
Layla giggled. "Remember the turkey baster last Christmas atyour parents'?" Just before the whole family sat at the table, repletewith linen napkins and real silver that marked out upper-middleclass territory, Layla had caught Sue eyeing the basterin the kitchen
and said, "Cut the calculations, Sue. My decision is fina1." WaryWinter'992/93 17

silence followed the remark. Finally Sue's sister asked, "What are
you talking about?" Layla replied, "Turkey basters. Also known aslesbian baby-makers."
Sue laughed with Layla, and the knot in her stomach loosened.
"I thought my father was going to have that heart attack men likehim are so famous for.""Then of course your brother started talking about the delicious food . Anything to keep the topic away from the L word. Oh
God, I've got to get dressed."Sue followed Layla from the tiny room that served as study
and chemical storage plant into the tiny room that served as bedroom; Toronto's rents remained as unreasonable as ever. "Youknow," said Layla reflectively, "if our cats didn't hold the world's
record for shedding, I could lay my clothes out on the bed. Like inthe movies. But would you put anything on that?"
Their beautifully designed, vividly colored quilt was disgusting. Cat hair coated every part of it. Orlando and Fury sat in the
middle, shedding complacently.
"I think they're shedding more these days because it's spring,"
said Sue.
"Oh, Sue, it doesn't matter what season it is, what particular
trauma they've recently experienced, how old they are. It's just ourcats. They never stop shedding."
The clothes were stacked neatly on the wooden dresser where
the cats didn't sit. Layla put on the white undershirt, the light blue
cotton shirt with the name patch "Bobbi" sewn on the left breast,
the 50/50 navy pants with a crease down the middle of the legs, theheavy work boots, all worn from Layla's many years of cleaning.
"It's absolutely disgusting this works so well," said Sue, recalling last month when she had donned the clothes and been janitor
for 30 minutes. "I still can't believe what I overheard those two
women say about me. 'Oh yes, that janitor's been here for years.
She's a very good worker."'"Yeah, well, I knew this would work. Hey, do you really think
those chemical warfare files are irreplaceable?""There might be back-up copies somewhere, but it seems unlikely." Sue sometimes preferred the cautious approach.
"Ok, probably irreplaceable," Layla said cheerfully. "I can't believe we found a bogus towel rack plant where GE and the Pentagon

18 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancehave a secret project. Right here in our own charming city. We don't
even have to take a IS-hour train ride like we did last month.""That was gross," Sue agreed . "And then Atlanta managed tolive up to every horrible stereotype I have about the South. Whenthat white woman stood up because an African/ American kid sat
next to her, I wanted to hit her.""Your little comment was effective in its own way. Even though
you did break our rule about not bringing attention to ourselves oncertain days."Sue had told the woman, "You know, pretty soon white people
like you will be extinct. And no one will miss you." The bus wasfilled, as usual, with people of color who exploded into laughter.
After the bus ride came the severe" alteration" of the centuries-old
building that served as plantation home for a rich white family
whose latest feat had been a behind-the-scenes lobbying number
spelling death for a huge wilderness refuge. All in all, an extremely
satisfying day.
At that moment the cats began meowing in the unmistakable
way that signified they would continue until they received hoursof undivided attention or canned cat food.
"Orlando, we couldn't take you with us. Your ego is far too big.
You'd never be invisible," Sue said.
"Mrak." It was dangerously close to Orlando's bitchiest tone.
'Who raised this cat, anyway?" asked Layla.
"M y ex-lover is completely responsible for all of her bad habits.
I am completely responsible for all of her good habits.""Such sophisticated analysis, dear." As Layla finished dressing, she carried out her last ritual, looking at the beautifullylettered sign "Shajaacat." Yes. She had it. They had it. This would
go just fine.
.
"Can we go now, so we don't blow ourselves up?" Sue asked.
"Hopefully Shadow will get us there," said Layla as they arrived in the parking lot. She cast a doubtful glance at the car, a 12year-old Mazda with 200,000 miles and more rust than body paint.
They had been sad about removing her many bumper-stickers
when they began the bombings. The pink triangle had refused tocome off, and they searched for an a ppropria te one to cover it. They
chose a bumper-sticker Layla swore had been written by a workingclass person: "My other car is also a piece of shit." Shadow wore it
proudly.

Winter 1992/93 19

Shadow turned over shakily and Layla asked Sue if she wanted
to go to the parenting discussion tonight.
"I think I'll pass.""If you didn't want a kid we wouldn't have to go." Layla
couldn't restrain herself from stating the obvious.
''Well, I do want a kid. It's this deep-seated desire I've had foryears. And it just keeps getting stronger. I've told you that before.""And I've told you it sounds like a bad case of socially-constructedmaternal feelings," said Layla airily.
"It is not.""Are you sure?""Layla, we'd be great parents. Look at our cats.""There's an example that's sure to sway me to your side. Hey,take it easy on these bumps. I don't want to die young."''We have so much to offer."''We'll get another cat.""I don't want another cat." Sue swerved to avoid a driver who
pulled into her lane without signalling. "Fuck you, buddy, where'd
you get your driver's licence? Out of a Crackerjack box?""God, I just know someday we'll pay dearly for those two years
in Boston. Your driving has never recovered," said Layla.
"Just think of it, we'd be such a cute family, you and me, thecats, little Nasser or Jameelah.""Spare me the touching family portraits." Layla, second oldest
in a family of seven, knew everything she ever wanted to know
about raising kids, and more. "I want some things for myself if weare ever in a financially viable position."'''Financially viable?' Is this my sweet Layla or my father discussing his stock portfolio?"
Layla glared at Sue. 'iThat was a low blow.""I'm kidding, dear." Sue squeezed Layla's thigh. "Look, when
we're both out of school and working, we'll be fine. The fact thatright now we have a grand total of $337.42 in our bank accountdoesn't mean it will always be that way.""That's true. Plus we could always knock off one of your richrelatives."
This time it was Sue's turn to glare at Layla.
"I'm kidding, dear," Layla said with a falsely-sincere smile.
They arrived at the plant, and swung around to a back door

20 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancediscovered on previous trips. Perfect timing; at the end of morning
break no one would think twice about a janitor coming from theparking lot. Sue kissed Layla hard and said, "I love you. Be careful."
Layla strolled casually down the hall, pushing her bucket aheadof her. She passed three groups of employees returning to theirdesks. No one so much as glanced at her. If I didn't need to beinvisible, I'd jump up and down, waving my hands and screaming
look at me! at the top of my lungs, she thought bitterly. Middle-class'assholes.
She reached the end of the corridor just as the bell rang, signifying a return to work. Layla entered the large men's bathroom on
the first floor, setting up the "Janitor at Work" sign and mopping
the doorway. Then she examined the wall in the northeast corner.
As usual with newer buildings, the dry-wall made it easy to knockout a small hole with the hammer.
She hummed a kd. lang tune as she wedged the bomb securely
in the opening and checked the timer. ''Thirty minutes to go. Perfect."
Mentally reviewing the outline of the building, she remembered
the diagram showing the library with its carefully stored files justabove this bathroom. It would suffer the most damage.
Layla cleaned a mirror for an added touch, then longingly eyed
the extra rolls of toilet paper before firmly shaking"her head. She
left the janitor's bucket in a storage closet, swung out another backdoor and hopped into Shadow. Sue and Layla drove off, not quite
triumphantly, since Shadow's days for that were long gone.
Last stop was the phone booth three miles away. Being the
joyful bearer of bad news was undeniably the best part. Layla
attempted to lure Sue into forsaking her turn.
"Darling," said Layla seductively, "if you let me call in I'll makeit worth your while tonight.""No way.""You can do whatever you want with my body.""No way." Sue opened the door.
''Wait, wait. I'll clean the litter box for the next two weeks.""Layla, that's your job this month."
Sue dialed the number, covered the mouthpiece with a lavender bandanna, hummed a little. She asked for president Ron White.
These names have got to go, she thought as she waited for his
personal secretary to pick up. When she did, Sue said, "I need to
speak to Ron," smirking a little, emphasizing his first name.

Winter 1992/93 21'Who's calling, please?""It's unimportant who I am. It's my message that's important.""I don't understand.""Just let me speak to Ron.""I must know who's calling."
Sue enjoyed these moments. "Have you heard anything about
Mohammed X on the TV news, miss?"
There was an audible gasp, a click, then Ron's voice, soundinga tad less confident than usual. 'Who is this?""Ron, I think you better clear out your building. Unless you
want your employees and yourself to be blown up with the bombthat's going off in 10 minutes.""Is this a joke?""In one sense, I would say it is. One of those grand cosmic jokes
about the strangeness of w ha t passes for life at this moment in time.
In another sense, I think you in particular would be better off tothink it isn't a joke. Ten minutes, buddy."
They laughed all the way home.
The cats did not greet them at the door. This meant only one
thing. A heinous act of destruction had been committed. Sureenough, the floor contained the remnants of the sign that read
"Shajaacat.'" Of course its pleasing visual effect had been somewhat marred by Layla's addition of "Look It Up Yourself," written
after a particularly bad day.
They made the sign after meeting Abdul, a union organizer
from the West Bank who had briefly toured Canada and the UnitedStates. At the gathering they attended, Sue and Layla had been
struck by Abdul's babyface good looks and by his courage. Perhaps his brand stood out more because he down-played it, mentioning things like his four bouts of torturous internment in Israeli
prisons only when asked. Their desire to emulate such courage
provided the inspiration for the sign, and for other things. And
now the sign was in pieces.
"Nasty little beasts," muttered Layla, surveying the damage.
"I'll make a new one, honey," said Sue.
She turned on the lJlachine. Nasser had called to confirm hewould meet Sue for coffee the next day at 10:00. "He'd be such a• ShajaaCat means courage in Arabic.

22 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancegreat sperm donor," sighed Sue, mostly for Layla's benefit, but Layla
ignored her. Next, a potluck Saturday night for Queers Against
Racism. A message from Kareema about a demo at the Israeli
embassy Tuesday at noon. Sue's brother telling her to call. And ofcourse Ana's message had not disappeared.
They looked at each other. "I don't want to go," Sue said firmly,
hoping to quell the butterflies in her stomach. "I can hardly talk to you
about this. How am I supposed to talk to people I don't even kno~?"''Besides,'' added Layla, whose own stomach was sending messages, "it'll most likely be a group of white 'professional' dykes.""You're probably right. Let's just stay home."
They wolfed down baba ganoush, homrnos, tabouleh and grape
leaves in silence. They they looked at each other, having reached
the same conclusion. It was time to face the music. But they wishedthe cats had not chosen this particular day to destroy the sign.
"I wonder if a therapist will facilitate this," Layla said as theywalked to the center.
"Oh, probably," said Sue. "But we can manage that. We havebeen in therapy."
They had in fact been to four sessions of couples counselling towork through their toughest issue to date: whose cleaning standards to use in the apartment. Not even their different backgrounds,
upper-middle-class WASP versus working-class Arab, had causedsuch serious problems in the relationship. This was in large part
because Sue chose common sense and political action over wallowing in guilt, an attribute that had added fuel to Layla's alreadyintense crush.
There were three other lesbian couples waiting for the film tobegin. "Oh, Christ, it's the Briefcase Brigade," whispered Layla, "I
think I'm going to throw up."Sue elbowed her, then responded politely to the greetings fromthe doctor and lawyer couple beside her. The lawyer pulled aleather-covered notebook and a fountain pen from her briefcaseand prepared to take notes. The woman beside Layla introduced
herself as Kathleen, an executive for Smith, Smith and Smith, thenasked Layla what she did.
"I'm a graduate student in ethnic studies.""How interesting." A slight pause. "So you probably spent
today poring over books in the library."

Winter 1992/93 23"Yes, that's exactly what I did," responded Layla.
"Oh well, once you're through, the pay-offs in terms of yourcareer will be well worth it.""Absolutely. I'm not settling for anything less than tenure atHarvard."
Sarcasm was lost on this woman. "That's the spirit," she beamed
approvingly as the lights dimmed .
. The film did not contain award-winning material. In fact, evenamong the world of gay cinema where allowances could be made,it ranked low. Leaving the deplorable politics aside, the filmmaker's
most unforgivable fault, thought Sue, was her failure to understand the reasons for and merits of editing. In repetitious scene
after repetitious scene, earnest lesbians explained their reasons forhaving or not having children. The sixth time someone began her
speech with "I really think it's important to let the rest of society
know we're just regular people who want to be part of a meaningful family experience," Sue found herself debating who to visit
next, the company furthest "ahead" in genetic engineering or thegroup responsible for this film. She blinked in surprise at thisimpressive example of her cynicism. Once upon a time she had
paid cold hard cash to see films like this. Meanwhile, Layla tried tofigure out the odds of a woman of color appearing in this film. One
in a million, she thought. No, too low. Maybe one in a trillion.
The film ended with a group of lesbians offering the placenta
from a recent birth back to Mother Earth. Sue felt slightly queasy
after a close-up of the placenta. Linda, the facilitator, asked forgeneral comments about the film and the lawyer said, "That one
woman really summed it up for me when she said, 'I feel I have somuch to offer a child. I'm secure enough at this point in my career
to make this important decision."'
Layla coughed and Sue smirked, but this did not mean they
could avoid the discussion forever. Linda wanted to hear each
person's feelings about having a child. I knew it, thought Sue.
Don't these therapists get enough of feelings after hearing them allday? Don't they have anything better to do at night than make therest of us share feelings?
However, before she could think of further questions for thetherapeutic community, Sue was called upon to put forth her
feelings. She stared blankly at the circle.
'Well, I, I don't know exactly what to say, I mean, 1..."

24 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Linda said gently, "Do you want a child?"
Sue nodded. For some inexplicable reason tears welled up in
her eyes.
"It's ok to cry," Linda said, again in a gentle tone.
Damn these therapists, thought Sue, as she began to sob. She
pulled her lavender bandanna out and blew her nose. After a
moment, Linda asked what the tears represented.
"I'm scared, I'm just scared, I don't know what to do, Layla
doesn't want a kid and I do."''Don't try to figure it out, just stick to your feelings.""I'd rather figure it out," Sue sniffed from behind the lavenderbandanna.
"You'll never resolve the issue until you get through thesefeelings. Just stick with the fear."More tears. After what seemed like an eternity to Sue, Linda
said they had to move on. She turned to Layla, who stuck out her
chin defiantly.
"Layla, could you share your feelings about not wanting achild?""A child represents something quite different for workingclass people of color. Burdens, no time, no freedom, one moreconstraint, someone to grow up and work on the assembly line if
he doesn't get shot down on the streets in the drug wars set up by
the white male elite."God, Layla thought, I sound like a Marxist-Leninist. She comforted herself with the fact that these women probably wouldn't
know one type of rhetoric from another.
"I think all of that is quite true," said Linda. ''But how do you feel?""You do?" asked Layla in amazement.
"Yes."'Why?""Layla, I'd be happy to have that discussion after the meeting.
For now, let's stick with the feelings ."Layla sat. She said nothing. Then she threw out her arms. "I feel,I don't know how I feel, I feel lousy. The whole issue makes me sick.""You might want to spend some time getting more in touchwith your feelings," suggested Linda.
The rest of the discussion provided a sure-fire cure for insomnia, the six statements as repetitious as the six in the film. "Security .. .
so much to offer .. . we're not that different .. . career and family ... "Winter 1992/93 25

Get a life, Sue thought as the doctor outlined her feelings
concisely and reasonably. Middle-class asshole, thought Layla.
Sue and Layla walked horne with their arms around each other,arriving just before the 11:00 news. They ran up the stairs andremoved the sheet from the couch, being careful to avoid touching
the top of it, caked as it was with cat hair. Fury and Orlando carnerunning, planning to shed as much as possible on the couch while
they had their chance.
"You are gross," Sue told them.
They glared at her before engaging in All-Star Kitty Wrestling
for a few minutes to let their moronic humans know just who they
were dealing with. Then Orlando and Fury arranged themselves
comfortably at either end of the naked couch. The cat hair began tofall. Meanwhile, Sue fiddled with the antennae of a TV set well past
its prime. The national news carne on.
'When are these jerks going to get off the air?""Don't expect miracles," Layla replied. "I think capitalism
itself may topple before that happens."
Just then the top-breaking story of the day carne on. The backdrop unfolded to show the remnants of the building they had
visited that morning. "Excellent," Sue murmured. "Adding thatextra bit of TNT was just right."
The voice droned on.
"Quite obviously, this is the work of Mohammed X, the ARAB
terrorist who has so far destroyed eight buildings throughout theUnited States, and one in Canada. We are unsure why this building
was targeted, since it is a small manufacturer of towel racks. (Whatever happened to the days of investigative reporting? thQught
Layla.) However, the mark of Mohammed is unmistakable.
"Police now believe that he is working with a large team ofengineers and chemists with highly specialized training. 'No one
else would know how to assemble such a large bomb,' the police
chief told us."
"Don't laugh so hard," Layla admonished Sue, "I can't hear
what he's saying.""As well as this large, team of engineers, Mohammed is working with a woman who calls in the bomb threats ten minutes before
they go off.
"Police are confident that they will apprehend Mohammed X
soon."

26 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

The story faded out with the face of the police chief, trying tolook authoritative and confident, as if capture was moments away.
Sue turned off the tube, saying, "It's a good thing these guys
know one Arab name, otherwise we'd just be X. Although I suppose now they also know the name Sad dam.""Sexist creeps," said Layla. "It doesn't cross their teeny-tiny
minds that we're women. Let alone that the bombs are being put
together by one woman who figured all this out with the help of achildhood chemistry set and ecotage manuals.""I do have a bachelor's degree in chemistry, Layla."'What do you suppose our families would do if they knew
about our day's activities?" asked Layla.
"I'll tell you what they would do," sighed Sue. "Your family
would hug you and tell you to be careful. Then your mother would
get us some food, and your father would tell us which major
corporation to hit next. On the other hand, my family would sit interrified silence for a few moments. Then they'd change the subject
and never bring itup again. Just like the time we got arrested atthat
demo."
After that event, Layla's mother had been furious. "They arrested you?" she asked indignantly. Her father said, "Those fat cats.
They're the ones who ought to be in prison," and Layla had decided to tackle questions of sizism and speciesism at a later date.
Sue's parents hadn't said a word for three whole minutes (shetimed them). Then her father asked, "How's the car running?""My family is pretty amazing," said Layla.
"That," Sue said, "is a classic understatement."
The press would never have known the "ethnic" backgroundof Mohammed X had it not been for Layla's insistence on leaving
behind a particular souvenir at the first bombing. Eight months
ago, she had "done her duty to the community" and given a presentation on anti-Arab racism to a group of local businessmen. They
had not only met but far exceeded her worst fears. One man, obviously considering it his duty to live up to stereotypes about whitebusinessmen, had delivered the final blow. He questioned her statements about the inevitability of a Palestinian state, saying with aleer, the world hadn't lost anything when Palestine vanished.
His comments helped convince Layla and Sue that property
destruction really was the way to go. Two weeks later his handgun

Winter 1992/93 27

store had vanished and, as Sue said, the world hadn't lost anything. Layla could not resist leaving the decal of the Palestinian
flag . Risky, but she had banked (successfully, it turned out) on thefact that he would never remember her or the presentation.
The decision to carry out that action at night had been their firstand only mistake. They telephoned but Mr. Businessman didn't
take the threat seriously or he was classist as well as racist anddidn't care if the night security guard died. Luckily the guard had
been at a pub down the street, although only Layla and Sue knew
that. He told reporters he'd been in the one corner of the buildingthat remained intact, had soaked his former employer for a bundle,
and retired at age 43.
"How do you explain that whole thing?" Layla had asked.
"Did the spiri ts tell him to get out, or was it tha t grea t working-classgutsiness that had him ripping off the company for everything hecould?""It could have been a random chance event," said Sue.
"I thought you'd stop being such a scientist once you switchedfields," complained Layla.
"Excuse me for living."
Layla and Sue snuggled together on the couch, until one hug
turned into a long passionate kiss that prompted Sue to straddle
Layla and bite her neck. Layla's heavy breathing was all Orlando
needed to hear. She sat up from her deep sleep, and made her way
deliberately from her end of the couch to wriggle between the twobodies. Orlando settled in and purred furiously.
Sue and Layla looked at each other, then at Orlando. "Is she
purring because she's happy we've stopped kissing, or because
she's getting off on the sexual energy?""This cat is a pervert, Layla. We've got to face facts. Every timethings start to get hot, here she is. Voyeur and chaperone extraordinaire rolled into one."
Layla sighed. "Fury, get over here and entertain your girlfriend, will you?"
Fury slept on, oblivious to events around her.
The next day over breakfast, Sue and Layla sat quietly, a purring cat on each lap. Whether the cats were interested in affection or
the cream container was a matter for discussion. Then Layla andSue spoke at the same time.

28 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance'What do you think?""How about?""You go first.""No, no, you go first.""No, I interrupted you."
They settled it by flipping a coin. Sue lost.
"I thought that maybe we should see Linda four times to talkabout our feelings some more. Then maybe we could make ourdecision about having a kid." Sue said it very fast, worried that if
she stopped she would lose both shajaacat and momentum. .
"Really? That's what I was going to say.""Really?"
They looked at each other, then grimaced and said, "But all
those feelings."
Sue thought they should call Linda right away, before they losttheir nerve. Layla suggested waiting a while, to make sure they
had made the right decision.
"Layla, you're just playing for time because you know you
have to phone her."liMe! What are you talking about?""I had to go first just now. So you have to do the next unpleasantthing."
They spent 10 minutes debating whether the coin toss influenced the question of who would call Linda. Sue made a strong
case for a definite relationship between the two. Layla tried torefute her but in the end she phoned, thanking her lucky stars
Linda's answering machine came on.
"Now," said Sue, "have I got a great idea about a fun outing
next month.""All right! Let's hear it."Sue pulled out her small pocket notebook. "I've found theheadquarters of a company that has been union-busting for years.
Now it's closing its Montreal plant, laying off 300 workers, andmoving operations to South Korea. It manufactures ...
IIWinter 1992/93 29

Kathleen O'Donnell

For Thelma and Louise

M en want us to see a cliff -their gameor none.
They want us to believe
our first independent thought,
any female bond,
all actions in self-defense
or angerinexorably lead
to being isolated, houndedover the precipice.
I see
an unreported landscape.
In men's country
many women are in harness,
blinkered against
other possibilities.
Yet there arecells of subversion,
islands of inversion,
rivers of rage.
Millions of women
occupying the margins,
stretching
every imaginable boundary.
I want womento lance the crusted lavaof our pain.
I want women
to measure the wasteof our unexplored potential.

30 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

I want womento unveil the mountains
ofour molested and murdered.
N~t \ . .
/ for retribtihQn
but t~courit fhe cost
. . of haying...;\.. .
· · · · · otq~~9~~~.i/mastets. //~J~~~.~.;.~!.:~~~~.;..•~ry~:~~~\':;i\.
~4~~ii~;;~:t/ ~~:~~~k; up }) ·ji.

(l,Winter 1992/93 31

Janice Gutman

Speech on Hate Crimes
In January 1990, the Center for Democratic Renewal sponsored a conference about hate crimes in Seattle. I was part of a panel discussion aboutbuilding bridges between ethnic and gay and lesbian communities. Whatfollows is excerpted from the speech I gave on that panel.

I was born in Chicago in 1948 and raised Jewish and female. I've

known since I was a kid that there are a lot of people who consider
both my religion and my sex reason enough to hate me. In my lateteens I got involved in anti-war movement, then marxist-leninist
politics. That led me to the women's movement and I came out asa lesbian at 23. A lot of those same people now had two moreexcuses to hate me, first for being queer and second for being acommie. I never called myself a communist but I know that's how
many people still see me. I've been part of a lot of organized political activity for the past 20 years and most of it has been in thewomen's and lesbian communities. But from to time I have decided
to work with other communities, because some issue has moved
me to want to make connections with other people. In these instances, I have tried to figure out who my allies are and to build
bridges between us so we will have strength in numbers.
In the late 1970s, when five people were killed in Greensboro,
North Carolina at an anti-Klan rally, my anger and fear pushed me
to learn more about right wing groups in the Seattle area and to figureout how we could protect ourselves from that kind ofthing happening
here. I heard about a newly-formed anti-Klan network and Istarted
going to meetings. The coalition was made up of representatives fromvarious groups, such as a national anti-racist organization, a local
progressive Jewish organization, and socialist organizations. There
were also individuals in the group, not representing anyone in particular. I joined as an individual. We were a mixed group in many
ways: sex, race, sexual preference, class and religion, to name a few.
Early on, it became apparent to me that a lot of decisions werebeing made outside the network's regular meetings. The anti-racist
organization which dominated the coalition would discuss the antiKlan network at their own meetings and come back with decisions

32 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancealready made. It was never clear which decisions got made bycommittees and which by the entire coalition. I began to feel more
and mqre voiceless and left out of decision making.
In 1979, the network planned a community educational on the
Klan and other hate groups. The first speaker was a man from theSouthern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), who spoke
about racism and the activities of right wing groups in the Southand throughout the country. When he talked about what to doabout it all, he turned to God and Jesus Christ. It was very alienating to me. As an American Jew, I never like anyone preaching to me
about Jesus Christ. I feel as though I've had Christianity shoved
down my throat since I was a kid, saying the Lord's Prayer every
day in public school. And, as a political activist, I feel it is up to
people to change things - and that we can't rely on faith alone.
We also had a speaker from the National Anti-Racist Organizing Committee (NAROC), the group that dominated our coalition.
NAROC's focus was on racism in this country and our need toorganize against it. The speaker from our coalition, who also happened to belong to NAROC, gave a very similar speech. The only
issue they talked about was racism. No mention of Jews, queers,
commies or any other issue.
I was appalled. How come the Klan and the Nazis are always
lumping us together? They have no problem blasting Jews, gays,
communists and all people of color in one breath. But we couldn' t
make the connections between all of us. Our coalition had beentalking for months about what we had in common as minorities inthis country. We educated each other about the issues in our own
communities and the need for us to support each other in order foranything to change. But now we were doing this public presentation and none of this was said. One of the members of the coalition
who was in the progressive Jewish organization called an emergency meeting during a break in the program and proposed that
another person speak for the coalition immediately to represent
those of us who felt invisible. It was a good solution for the moment
but it couldn't correct the weaknesses in our coalition. I left thatcoalition.
Later, looking for some direction in my work, I spent a whilewriting about political work I'd done, why I did it and what I got
out of it. One thing I figured out was that I did want to keep doingcoalition work and making connections with people who are different from me. But I needed to have support to do it. I didn't wantWinter 1992/93 33

to join a coalition as an individual again. I wanted to be part of alesbian organization and to have support as a Jew.
More recently, I've been doing work around peace in the Middle
East. It has been important to me to speak up as a Jew in criticism
of the Israeli government and to support Palestinians in theirdemands for self-determination. A lesbian group I joined decided
to use the word lesbian in its name (Lesbian Work Group). And wealways talk about the fact that some of us are Jews. These issues arevery connected for us.
As a group, we joined a coalition of individuals and organizations
called No Aid to the Occupation. It was a diverse coalition which
included men, women, straights, lesbians, communists, socialists,
Arab-Americans, American Jews, Pakistanis, Christian and Moslem Palestinians, and an Israeli Jew.
We planned a demonstration for the first anniversary of theintifada, the Palestinian uprising. In a discussion of how to define
who was in the coalition, only Jews, Arabs, Moslems and Christians
were mentioned. Members of the Lesbian Work Group wanted to list
lesbians too, but there was so much argument that we ended up
saying we were a group of Christians, Jews, Moslems and others.
After the demonstration, we decided to bring the issue up
again. We wanted to include the word lesbian if we were describing who was in the coalition and we wanted our name listed as amember of the coalition. We tried to explain why it was so important to us to be visible as lesbians. What followed was a rather
tense, but lively discussion. We barely said another word. Somepeople in the room argued for us, while others argued against. We
got support from people of different sexes, sexual orientations,cultures and religions. That part felt great!
On the other hand, some people were clear that they would notpass out any sheet of paper that had the word "lesbian" on it because
it was against their beliefs. Several white Christian North American
men were afraid to challenge the Palestinian men in the group who
were against using the word lesbian. We could not agree and we
decided we would continue to discuss it next time it came up.
It has not come up again because the next December, when thecoalition got together again to plan a demonstration for the second
anniversary of the intifada, no one told us. We found out about itby seeing a leaflet advertising the event with a long list of sponsoring organizations - none of which mentioned lesbians.
Looking at my experiences, ten years apart, things do not seem

34 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceto have improved much in terms of building real coalition. We
were able to bring up the topic of invisibility and push it enoughthat at least we had a discussion about it. It's a step forward.
I've been talking about groups where I have been in the minority position in building bridges as a lesbian and as a Jew. But often
I am in the majority position. I have white skin privilege, I'm ablebodied, relatively thin, and not exactly young or old. These privileges have responsibilities, and I often come face to face with my own
ignorance and insensitivity. It's my job to educate myself, become
sensitive to the shit that other people have to take, and work for justice.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about my class background andcurrent resources. It's an area that ties things together for me. I
come from a mixed working/middle class background and I continue to be in that position. On one hand I have always been angry
at a lot of rich people I've worked with and at a whole class of people
in this country because of their ignorance and arrogant attitudes andat the control they have over my life. Atthesametime,l have resourcesthat many of my friends and other poor people don't have at all. Beingfrom a mixed class, my class status is more complicated than my sex,
race, or religion. I am not simply in the majority or the minority, butrather, privileged in some ways and oppressed in others. Being in thisposition has helped me understand there is a kind of continuum ofprivilege and oppression. Most of us are in different positions at
different times on different issues.
There is a lot we can learn from sometimes having the powerand sometimes not about how to work together with people whoare different from us. When I think about what I've learned frommy experiences in coalitions, it all sounds pretty basic. But I thinkthat's where we're at - getting the basics down. I have learned that
we must confront and be confronted about our differences. And wemust be able to listen to each other with respect. It has to be ok for
us to get angry and talk about our pain, or for us to be silent. And
it's even ok to be nice, polite, and want a mediator present; there's
no one way to bring something up. Sure, when we are confronted
we all get defensive. But we should fight that defensiveness admit our own ignorance, and say, "I was wrong:" And we haveto be willing to change, to say, "The old way isn't working, I'm
going to do something different." And keep going from there.
I have often been a part of all-women, all-lesbian, all-Jewishle~bian groups and understand the need for people to separate off
WIth others like themselves. When I was having a difficult timeWinter 1992/93 35

talking about lesbianism in the No Aid to the Occupation group, I
got a lot of support from a lesbian organization I was a part of. But
six months later, I was turning to Jewish lesbians for support aboutanti-Jewish issues coming up in that same lesbian organization. I
say get support where you can.
It's important to be clear and up front about the power andinfluence that groups can have in a coalition. When these issues are
discussed openly the group can add a lot to the coalition. It's when
they are ignored that they can become dangerous. At the sametime, it's important to insure that those who join a coalition as
individuals are encouraged to participate and have a voice.
Another issue that comes up a lot in coalition building is refusing to work with certain groups or individuals. People are afraidof each other and of one group or individual trying to disrupt ortake over the coalition. But I think that ignoring or excluding
certain people or groups is a bad approach. We need to learn how
to build strong enough coalitions that no one person or group canhave that much influence. Also we need to check out all our potential allies on an issue when we come together. And when we avoid
working with groups and individuals that are hard for us to workwith, we aren't building coalitions at all.
I see the U.S. government as the major hate group in thiscountry, a very well-organized, well-financed and well-defended
hate group - financed by taxpayers like me. Then there's all thoseindependent hate groups: The Order, the Klan, Operation Rescue,
the Moral Majority are just a few groups from the far right. As alesbian and a Jew, I often feel threa tened by the rhetoric and actionsof these groups. Some safety comes from large numbers of people
realizing we have to support each other to survive. So it's going tocontinue to be really important for us to get our shit together - tolearn how to respect each other and work together and build
bridges over our differences.
The coalition work I have done in the past has taught me a lot
about people and communities different from my own. And hopefully I have taught others some about issues that are important tome . The bottom line is that even if people don't learn from eachother, it gets clearer who can be counted on for support and who
can't.
It's been really hard and painful for me to do coalition work,but, as hard as it's been, I know I'm going to keep doing it because,
as far as I can see, it's my survival.

36 sinister wisdom #48, Resista nce

Naomi Guilbert

curse poem
.for all those who have dragged me in the dust and broken my heart
expecting me all the while to save themfor all those who have aligned themselves with whitenesswho have confused trust with safety
and talked with ease of liberation
only to gorge themselves later
while some of us were starving
for all those who still refuse to see
this poem is for you
i am writing this because i am a woman and lesbianand not white
i am writing this because it needs to be said
and i am wanting to say it for once
not with grace
but with vengeancelisten:this is the sound of your own hopes
crumblingthese are your words
the four winds are blowing them back to you
empty now and without meaningthese are your fears coiled in your gut
like a rope
they are waiting
to be set free
what did you expect?
don't you know
there is nothing more
i can saythat i'm still not talking
about hatredthat in the end
only this poem
will notbetray youWinter 1992/93 37

Amber L. Katherine

Lesbian Politics and the
National Lesbian Conference
Sometimes it's said that dykes aren't so political anymore, thatlesbians who used to protest Penthouse have moved to the suburbs, set
up house, and are having litters of baby boys. As annoying as thisreality may be, I don't think it should rank among our communities'
more serious concerns. But if it's true that dykes really aren't politicalanymore, that would be a matter of serious concern. Is it true?
I'll admit that I haven't hit a porn shop in about five years. I've
stopped keeping a spare can of red spray paint in my truck. And I
really do prefer my Melissa Ethridge concert tee to my "Take Back
the Night" shirt. Perhaps these are the markers of a diminishedpolitical commitment. There does seem to be less angry protest,
less hard line conviction, and less of an apparent drive to destroy
the heteropatriarchal system.
What's ha ppened? In my case, I began to analyze the focus andgoals of my protest-oriented activism in the context of my growing
understanding of oppression. With the realization that the heteropatriarchal system is not just a target "out there," but also a reality"inside" me, has come a recognition that the process of destroying
the system needs some thoughtful re-consideration. Acknowledging that my identity is constructed out of my privilege, as well as theways I have been oppressed, has forced me to deal with contradictions created by my hard lines. I still get angry, but my anger.pales
in comparison, as a motivating force, with my desire to create aworld with lesbians.
This process hasn't made me less political, or less of an activist.
But I no longer believe that political commitment can be measured
simply by how many sexist billboards you can "improve," or by
the slogan on your tee-shirt. I don't think that being angry makes
you more political, nor do I agree with the opinion that if you aren't
marching, then you're "sitting around doing nothing." And I've
decided that politics and fun shouldn't be mutually exclusive.
Maybe those who say that dykes aren't so political anymore
just think that it's not politics if it doesn't eventually result in38 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceburnout. Of course, we wouldn't be where we are today if dykes
hadn't been willing to do almost unbearable amounts of tedious
and/ or frustrating and/ or unpaid political work. And if organizing ever stopped being hard, at least some of the time, it probably
would cease to be'politics. My point is the perception that dykes are
getting nothing political done is based on a particularly narrow(mainstream) idea of the "political."I think the National Lesbian Conference" got a bad rap, in part,
because of this narrow conception of politics. I heard it said that
NLC was "a failure," "a complete mess," "a waste of time," "a joke."
Admittedly, there were some big problems, namely racism andaccountability. The criticisms I heard and read which dealt withthese issues were mostly thoughtful and well-founded. But there
were other critical voices which were, in my view, less constructive.
For example, some complained that the anti-oppression training went
nowhere and that the NLC' s failure was undeniably demons trated by
our inability to crank out a document, stating "our" positions anddemands, with which we could march off to Washington, D.C. In
other words, because a political agenda of a particular kind was
not developed, some concluded that lesbians do not have much ofa political agenda, that we have no movement of our own.
We are a political movement and the NLC was an importantdemonstration of the uniquely lesbian kind of politics many of us
practice. What's unique about lesbian politics, in my view, is that
we refuse to be a "special interest," we refuse to have our dreamsof what could be reduced to a list of needs which weask (demand?
beg?) the white men of congress to meet. We have begun with arigorous critique of oppression built out of our experiences, and abelief that other worlds are possible right now. Lesbians have beenworking for at least the last quarter-century to create anti-racist,
multicultural, intergenerational, accessible lesbian realities.Of
course we' re not there yet - systems of oppression were not built
in a day. Bringing other worlds into existence - deep change will undoubtedly take lifetimes.
The anti-oppression trainings at the NLC were a useful marker
of where we are as a movement, something I think feminist and"A five-day conference held in Atlanta, Georgia in April, 1991 , at least three yea rs inplanning, with over 3,000 lesbian attendees,

Winter 1992/93 39

lesbian press coverage of the event failed to bring out. The trainings
highlighted the fact that, we are, as a movement, at this time,
deeply concerned with understanding the differences among kindsof oppression, and with the ways they intersect inside us individually, and in our collective interactions. At the NLC care was taken
to examine our use of language, to point out privileged assumptions,to name and preserve our different racial identities and cultural practices, to figure out how resources might be shared among us, andto tell others how they can be our allies. These projects reflect a
profound understanding of where deep change begins.
Much more needs to be said about the meaning of the NLC, thelessons we can learn from it, and its repercussions for us today. My .
record of the trainings is intended to spark others to continue this
exploration of lesbian politics.
On Thursday I went to the first event in the series of antioppression trainings, the anti-racism fishbowl for white lesbians.
The fishbowl format has several variations. In this one, an inner
circle of about 18 was formed by calling for white anti-racist activists from different u.s. regions to volunteer. Those in the inner circle
were asked to respond with a brief insight, from personal experience, to the question: What is hard about doing anti-racism work withother white women? After each activist spoke, a member of the outercircle, made up of over a hundred lesbians, was called on to reflect
back what she had heard. It's an exercise in active listening designed to bring out defensiveness, distorted interpretive-listening
and denial. If the reflector, from the outer circle, heard wrong or
missed the point, then others were called on until the point wasreconstructed accurately.
The points made by activists who formed the inner circle ranged
from the frustration of dealing with the attitude of some white wimmin that they can't do anti-racism work without wimrnin of color, tothe defensiveness manifest in beingcaUed the "isms" police and being
asked, "how many tickets have you given out today?"This is a slow process. One advantage to the pace is things canbe said and reflected upon because they're not emerging out ofheated "I'm anti-racist/you're racist" arguments. I found it gaveme time to think about how a speaker's insight fit with my experience. Had I exhibited that attitude? Where, inside me, does itcome from? How have I responded to these racist/ defensive atti-

40 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancetudes in others? What diffuses my desire to work with other whitelesbians against racism?
After the fishbowl, some were saying it had been "elementary"and hadn't really gone anywhere. But in about 45 minutes, a couple
hundred white lesbians who didn't know each other got something important done. It's true some of us had heard and said muchof this before. But how these things were said and heard, and thefact that they were acknowledged as barriers to effective anti-racism
work in a community forum was significant. It was elementary ~n thesense that as a group we are just beginning to lay the foundation for
white/ Anglo lesbian anti-racism politics by trying to identify anddeal with the shit that gets in our way.
Immediately after the anti-racism fishbowl, lesbians were asked
to self-identify their level of anti-racism work, and sign up for small
groups scheduled to meet early Friday morning. Over 30 anti-racism
activists from around the u.s. had been contacted to facilitate thesegroups - a pair (one lesbian of color and one white lesbian) to eachgroup'. Levell workshops were geared for those relatively new toanti-racism work. Level 2 was for those who had done some antiracism work. Level 3 was for long-time anti-racism activists andcommunity organizers. During the self-identification process, thelargest number signed up for levell, the smallest for level 3.
The content and direction of the individual groups was decided
on by the co-facilitators, so every group was different. There wereabout 17 in the level 3 group which I co-facilitated. The questions weworked with were: What motivates you (and might motivate others)
to do anti-racism work? What are the Third World communities inyour area and issues which you have organized around? What
have you done that has worked, i.e. has changed things?
The workshop got me asking myself questions: What forces,
besides social conscience and interpersonal caring, are strong
enough to fuel this work? How do we positively encourage ourwhite sisters to choose to take it on? The workshop also confirmed
my sense that dykes are working against racism on all four of thelevels identified in the NLC statement: "I} Internalized beliefs and'An organizational meeting was held for facilitators on Wednesday, so we had twodays to work on our small group formats with our co-facilitators. This was wellorganized, as was the whole series of anti-oppression trainings, by Coral Inza.

Winter'992/93 41

attitudes (conscious and unconscious) - this would include internalized racism; 2) Inter-personal relationships ... behavior, how wetreat each other; 3) Institutional structures ... laws, access to education, employment, decision-making power, money; 4) Systemic ...
the cultural norms that pervade all levels." Sharing our experiences of what works (and what doesn't) contributed to my growing confidence that white dykes can be effective, and of the distance we still have to go.
After the anti-racism small groups, there was an Ageism fishbowl late Friday morning. It was facilitated by the Old Lesbian
Organizing Committee (OLOC), following a format similar to theanti-racism fishbowl. The inner circle addressed the questions: How doyou oppress me as an old lesbian? And, what can you do to be my ally?
Their answers touched on topics from housing, to sexuality, to being
set up as "mothers" and role models among lesbians.
At one point in the process a lesbian from the outer circle who
was supposed to be reflecting back the point that allies don't thinkof old dykes as "mother earth," instead offered the view that "youare not old, you are no age." At this point the facilitator responded,''We are old! We are struggling to get the fact affirmed that OLD IS
GOOD! Don't deny it. Denial comes from your fear of getting old.
You can be an ally by looking at your own fears ... " It was obvious
from the charged atmosphere created by this exchange that many
young dykes were hearing this for the first time. The fishbowl wasan effective format for confronting ageism. Having old dykes
demand that their work and politics be respected, rather than theirage, interrupts stereotypes that associate old age with indifference
and passivity.
The anti-oppression panel scheduled for 8:15 Saturday morning was supposed to be a major community event - nothing wasscheduled at the same time except a session for Two SpiritedThunder People. By 8:30 there were less than 100 lesbians present
in the ballroom set up for over a thousand. Was it just too early?
Was it frustration with the general chaos? The crowd grew steadily
through the morning to over a thousand by noon.
There were at least thirty panelists, divided into three tiers,
which each had a turn on stage (i.e. ten panelists at a time, threetimes). There were two lesbians representing each identified oppressed group. Both of the lesbians had been asked to prepare short

42 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancestatements responding to the questions: What is the oppression you
face? How does it intersect with other oppressions? What do you wantfrom allies? Open mic for audience response was supposed tofollow each pair:
The panelists, in order of their presentations, included: Latinas,
African Americans, Asians, Native Americans (who chose not toparticipate on the panel), fat, old, (one) white lesbian of poverty, deaf,
Arab (a Lebanese and Armenian lesbian)" , disabled, (one) young,(one) Jewish lesbian. All the panelists not specifically representing
a racial group were white or white/Jewish, with the exceptions of an
African American/Puerto Rican deaf lesbian and an Asian disabled
lesbian. Many lesbians expressed the frustration that lesbians of color
weren't representing more of the other oppressions.
This was a fast moving and often emotionally charged morning. The scope, the substance, the passion of the panelists, and theattentive participation of the audience combined to make this alesbian forum which should go down in our hers tory books. I'msure nothing more revolutionary happened at Seneca Falls in 1848.
It's impossible to describe here all that was said and the energythat was raised in this session. But I think that some of the last
panelist's comments captured this energy. She began with anger in .
her voice,
I'm overwhelmed, listening to all of these other panelists,
waiting to speak.!' m a Brooklyn Jew, a member of a smalland hated community ... My grandmother is Jewish andChinese, my mother was disabled.You don't know who thehell I am! ... My life is the intersection of oppressions.
Her voice began to mellow as she continued,'In fact, the open mic arrangement didn't start working until after the second tier ofdykes started their presentations. The first tier had all been groups of lesbians ofcolor talking about the specifics of their situations; when the responses started tocome to dykes in the second grouping, one of the facilitators interrupted the process
to clarify the procedure to be followed. After this happened, there was a lot of
audience participation through the open mic. It was suggested, by an Asian lesbian,that the silence after the first tier was not only due to procedural confusion.
"The Armenian lesbian was invited by Arab lesbians to fill the empty slot after an
Iraqi lesbian decided the NLC was not a safe place to speak due to pro-Gulf war
sentiments among some conference goers. While part of the Middle East, Armenia
is not an Arab country.

Winter 1992/93 43

Lesbians are the only ones who care about access, racism,
ageism, etc .. .I want a rainbow to happen here. So what if
the NLC organizers made mistakes.We got it together to be
here. It's a miracle!
The room full of lesbians roared with applause. One of theindividuals who took the open mic identified herself as the last
panelist's 18-year lover. Near tears she said,.. .What has to come out of this conference is some resolutions about how we are going to live together. We -lesbians and wimmin - are the only hope for the survival of thewhole universe! I want solutions and I want them now! .. .
(More applause and cheering followed.)
The morning had been long and stressful, necessary and appreciated. Although many of us were not aware of it, Off Our Backs
reported that during this panel"many other groups met elsewhereto try to deal with the issues raised at the Friday night plenary." (SeeOOB, June 1991, for conference coverage.) The sense of connection
created during this anti-oppression panel carried over into the emergency plenary session which followed the same afternoon.
Coverage of the NLC which did not include the anti-oppression trainings failed to acknowledge some of the most importantwork done at the conference. Many of us used what we were learning as instances of racism came up. Anti-oppression work gives us
the tools to be accountable for our mistakes in the present and to do
things differently in the future.
Lesbian anti-oppression politics - with our emphasis on theintersections among oppressions, individual and collective differences, recognition of an accountability for privileges, healing,empowerment and struggling for radical change - is the stuff that
holds us together and makes different futures possible. The feminist and lesbian press reported that a national lesbian agenda did
not emerge at NLC. Certainly there is no document to march to
Washington with. But I didn't leave the National Lesbian Conference with any doubt about what's on our political agendas.

44 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Sauda Burch

Excerpt from novel-in-progressThis is a working draft of a novel in progressand so it was that Grace found Sarahand Sarah found graceand Grace was one with Sarahand Sarah was one with Grace
Sarah was a slave
and Grace was a slave
and they knew little of lovemuch more of lives
spent losing something or somebody
or having nothing or nobody
but themselvesand now each otherGrace moved Sarahand Sarah moved Graceand they moved each otherbeyond their lives
stole by moonlight to each's waitings
still nights on musty cabin floors
dripping desires
awakened hauntings long discarded
as uselessto owned lives
Grace nurtured the thought of freedom
reveled in its nectar
rolled it roundher ebon fingers
molded it into her image
and supped on itWinter 1992/93 45

raised it to blackberry lips
and kissed it goodnight
had nightmares about not having it
saw the sun rise with it
and survived another day
only because ofit
she needed Sarah to want it
so that she could
keep wanting Sarah
for freedom and Sarahmeant nothing without
the other
Sarah wanted freedom
but dared not dream it
she couldn't taste it
for she slept with the memories of
thosedead because of it
but her Grace stirred the needfor itagain
Sarah bade Grace goodnightsweetlythat night she dreamt of itsavored it
for this
was nothing without Grace
And so it was that Sarah found Graceand Grace found Sarahand they chose freedom
and so it wasand so it was
imagine.

46 sinister wisdom #48, ResistanceIf you have no connection to your ancestors, to your history,
then a history will be given to you.
What, I asked the wind would the lives of two lesbians who wereslaves look like? Look to yourself, it answered. I search slave narratives, academic writings to find myself, cloaked not only in my Blackness, but as importantly in my lesbianism. I do not find myself there.
I asked for them and they came. Frequent dream visitors, Sarah
and Grace speak to me, sometimes in voices I cannot understand.
My trust that they will continue to come grows daily, and with that,they reveal themselves in vivid colors and with poetic tongues.
Two beautiful Black women, defiant, in love and slaves. My dreams
explode with visions of their lives and loves. I am at once enraged,
frightened, joyful and confused. I am the avatar of their story.
"it's me"
I say
"it's us"rocks echo
- "Oracle," Francisco X. Alarcon

I waver between writing a herstorical account of the lives ofBlack lesbians who were slaves and a wild, raunchy, fantasticaljourney to myself. In my fantasy the lesbian is a Southern Black
woman (she is not a slave) in a knee length white dress, hanging
laundry, sweat gathering between her breasts ... something about
hot pie on the table (handcrafted), waiting to be eaten (the pie on
the table, not her - though that might work) ... chirping frogs inthe background ... green green hills ... and then there's the bed
with the handstitched quilt on it ... candles ... me ... her and me ....
Where in the hell did you get that shit from girl? If it's a Black
woman, if she's doing laundry, she doing more than sweating.
She's got better things to do than to wait on you, baking you apple
pies ... your lazy self is doing what? '" watching? shit, what
happened to your politics?
Sarah and Grace allow me to envision. But they caution me
against romanticizing their lives as if they were free. We wereslaves. Remember that. We loved each other. We made the mostwith what we were given. And whatweweren'tgiven, we took. We
laughed. We made love. We feared that we would be taken fromeach other. We moved beyond that fear.

Winter 1992/93 47

Even the most generous allotments, however, left theslaves with little opportunity to wash and change theirclothes more than once a week. (Roll Jordan Roll: The Worldthe Slaves Made, p.SS1)
Nineteenth-century propagandists notwithstanding, West
Africans enjoyed a great reputation for personal cleanliness, whereas Europeans, including if not especially the
English, suffered from an equally emphatic and welldeserved reputation for avoiding soap and water at all
costs. (Roll Jordan Roll, pp.SS3-S4)
I am not interested in a chronicle of torture and angst. I imagine
far flung love and passion.
How far have we come from owned lives? Is it so hard to
imagine that two slave women could have ever been happy? How
do we manage to be happy now?
Freedom... She was asking me to go with her. Wasn't nothing holding
me here. All my babies had been sold a long time ago. But when I
think about running, I think about Thomas hanging from that tree,
about the whip, about blood and more blood, and women withvacant eyes. "I'm drowning in a red river," I said. "And I can't see myway past it to see freedom." Then I told Grace I figure I just didn't
know how to get there, and then, because I was so shame and plain
tired with not knowing how, I cried. Where those tears came from, I
don't know. I thought I had emptied myself a long time ago. Grace justheld me. She said maybe I couldn't see cause lain' t never ran. She said,"How you know how bad this is, if you never tasted that?"
What does she know. The day she came here, I knew I was free.
But I didn't tell her that. I just let her hold me, and looked out on
a nothing patch of yellow growing on the side the cabin.
What happens when you witness others trying to escape andfail? When do you lose your vision? Can your vision be revived?
What is freedom? How do you get there? Is the there a bottomlesswell of tears? What's a nothing patch of yellow?
I am fueled by the struggle to know self, to connect with myancestors. As Black women, much of our lives has been stolen orerased, until we are left believing lies that would rate our love for each48 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceother as less-than. In that, there is little room to talk about love on themargins. Slavery was tragic enough. Everything else complicates.
But my survival is the challenge of meeting barriers and resisting the oppressive use of power; the quest of wanting to belong,
dealing with the complexities of owning and ownership, and living with the fear of losing fierce love. I struggle for acceptance,
potentiality and right relations. This is everywoman's journey.
Touching
Grace rose from the mat, and moved to the side of the cabin
where Sarah lay with the children. She had been awake all night,
listening to the frogs singing in the creek, watching the slivers ofmoonlight as they slipped beneath the cabin door. Getting to Sarah
was'n't easy; she didn't know if Sarah would take her in. A sudden
fear that she would be turned away stole her breath. She paused,gathered her will and moved closer to the sleeping forms on thecabin floor. Three very small children slept at Sarah's side. Threethat weren't hers. Grace thought that if Sarah could still care forthese, after all hers had been sold, she might have some room fora different kind of caring.
Her eyes lingered on the sleeping babies. The youngest, secure
on Sarah's chest, took its breath with Sarah's. With each breath
Sarah drew, the child's head rose and fell, rose and fell.
Grace moved the child behind Sarah with the other children.
Then she lay down next to Sarah, her breath quickening ... Sarah
opened one sleepy eye and then the other, and then she closed both .. ..
Grace kissed Sarah's closed eyes and her forehead, she kissed
each cheek, behind each ear and one on each side of her neck. She
tasted Sarah's saltiness and her desire. With each kiss she lingered
longer. Sarah's mouth was open, as if caught in some happy surprise ... her lips gently parted ... her lips, the color of blackberries
and the fullness of plums. Before kissing her lips, Grace lightly
glazed her own with her tongue, and savored Sarah's desire mingling with her own. She took Sarah's head in her hands, caressed
her face and put her lips to hers ....
Witness... That she would witness it. Sarah stood, legs apart, rooted
like the willow. She felt heavy and useless, her arms hanging

Winter 1992/93 49

limply at her sides, watching as Grace's dress was torn from her
body. She fought to close her eyes, but her love for Grace, and herneed to witness, forced them open. She wanted Grace to know thather pain would be noticed. She needed Grace to want to survive.
Sarah flinched as the tattered dress fell around Grace's feet. Grace's
back, after dozens of whippings, was a raised map of her long
history of defiance, a history of her runnings and her captures.
Sarah could hear the voices of the other women around her,and the mutterings of the men. Even the smallest children wereforced to watch. And the older ones, who may have had their own
short history with the whip, shifted uneasily from one foot to theother, and stared blankly in front of them.
The scars covering Grace's back were long and thick. To manyof the slaves" they cautioned that Grace had failed to make freedom. They would never run. But, to a smaller number, watchingintently, the scars reminded them only that freedom never cameeasy. There would be attempts to freedom that very night, longafter Grace's limp form had been cut from the post and the smallchildren, in terror, were soothed by their mothers to sleep.
If the person being whipped could find nobody to look at,
would she be more likely to break? To cry out? To whom? Would
the other slaves unders tand that they too were alone? With only thefields to look out upon, fields where they labored, would they
figure that that was as far as their freedom went?
... Nor did the slaveholders think that they were committing a crime by whipping their slaves. Throughout theSouth whites submitted to public whippings for minor
crimes ... white men whipped their wives and parents
their children. Frederick Douglass observed that in theSouth everyone seemed to want the privilege of whipping someone else. (Roll Jordan Roll, p.64)
Grace was still. Life stopped the moment she was tied to thepost. Now, she was aware only of the wind and the sound of theoverseer testing his whip against the tree next to her. Out of thecorner of her eye she could see the whip wrap itself around the tree,
and although outwardly, she didn't move, her insides jerked witheach lash. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath became shorterand faster. Grace felt the sweat rise off her body, and her tears,

50 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancewhich never spilled, well behind her eyes. She had been to the post
many times, but each time was like the first. If her body had held
the memories of even one of those whippings, she would never
have been able to run again. Now, the wind, caressing her face, was
her only comfort. It promised to stay with her, to match each lashwith gentleness, and to finally carry her spirit away with it.
Then the only sound she heard was the whip, as it was hurled
toward her back. She felt the old scars give way and open; she felt
her blood flowing down her back, then her legs, until it settled intoa warm pool beneath her feet. Hadn't Sarah mentioned something
about drowning in red? She was drowning in her own blood. And
because Grace would not move, and because Grace would notscream, the hurling became more furious until the wind, true to its
promise, screamed for her. The whip, the wind and nothing more.
Sarah saw Grace's spirit begin to leave the post. Freeing itself
from Grace's body, it took its form in the wind. She glimpsed
around atthe others, butit was her witnessing alone. The spirit was
reluctant to leave its host, but with each lash of the whip, its will
strengthened as Grace's will gave in ...
Sarah would not recall the events of the next few moments. She
last remembered her fury rise from the pit of her being and makeway, like rolling thunder, into her throat. ... She was told that she
opened her mouth to the sky and screamed, "No," and fainted ....
When Sarah awoke, Grace's battered but breathing body was lying
across from hers.

Winter 1992/93 51

II

faye
gelatin silver print, © 1991

Xenia

52 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

1. M. Kenney

Some Notes on Resistance
As long as there has been patriarchy, there has been women's
resistance to its structures and ideologies. One of our most powerfulacts of resistance is talking back, ending the silence imposed upon
us by our oppressors. The control of mass communication ---.: radio,
television, publishing - by men has meant that much opposition
to government policies has not been heard. The wave of feminism
which began in the late 1960s and into the 70s started to change
that. Women began alternative presses and publications, created
women's bookstores and entered radio and television as writers
and producers, putting forth feminist ideals in their projects. After
years of silencing lesbians and women of color in the name of"sisterhood," the mostly white, heterosexual, middle-class womenof the Women's Liberation Movement began to hear our different
experiences under patriarchy. Radical feminists spoke out against
tools of oppression, including the institution of heterosexuality
and its normative status within our society. We were breaking thesilence imposed on us by the patriarchy of our time as ourforemothers had done in theirs.
Silence for women goes beyond a lack of access to the modesof communication. More profoundly, it is the taking of our voice,
our belief that we have a story to tell. It is the fear patriarchy instills
in us for talking, the ways we are told our voice will not be believedor doesn't matter. It is the violence we experience when we do talkback, even in a whisper, about unequal pay for our equal work,
about incest or about rape. This silence happens many times, inmany ways, every day; in our workplaces, on the television, whena woman who has been raped is asked why she didn't stay homeor wear something else, or say something sooner or louder.
There is a powerful hand being pressed over the collective
mouth of women; it silences us through all the ways we are told "itdoesn't matter," what we do has no effect. It does not matter
whether we say something, or do something; the outcome is inevitable. This is demonstrated in very visible ways - in Senate hearing rooms, courtrooms, and state legislatures. Yet, even in the
midst of all this we resist, speak out, talk back. Every time one ofWinter 1992/93 53

us is raped or sexually abused and it is reported, we commit an actof resistance. Every time we approach our employer to demand
equal pay for equal work, we commit an act of resistance. Everytime we reject society's notion that we can never be "too thin or too
rich," we commit an act of resistance. Every time we make love toanother woman - rejecting society's compulsory heterosexuality, we
commit an act of resistance. Resistance is all around us.
I take myself back, fear.
You are not my shadow any longer.
I won't hold you in my hands.
You can't live in my eyes, my ears, my voice
my belly, or in my heart my heart
my heart my heart:
Every time a woman writes or speaks of her experience, she istalking back, speaking in the presence of fear. Whether she istalking about racism or sexism, capitalism or heterosexism, she isreclaiming her voice and telling her story. We saw in Anita Hill abrave, articulate woman: breaking the silence. The rape victim ofWilliam Kennedy Smith, speaking out against the violence she
experienced, even though she was confronting the wealth andpower of America's royalty: breaking silence. The four women
who sought to testify in the Kennedy trial, declaring that he had
raped them as well: br.eaking silence. Karen Thompson proclaiming the reality of love and relationship with Sharon Kowalski in acourt system hostile to our existence - breaking silence.
Silencing the voices of women happens in many ways: questioning our sanity; denying us a venue from which to speak; creating asystem which demands that we spend our time surviving, thereby
refusing us the right of reflection and/ or activism; attributing to us
certain characteristics and then devaluing/pathologizing them; discounting us; colonizing us, so "we take from the oppressor the instruments of hatred and sharpen them on our bodies and our souls." "At The Borderlands: The Interweaving Threads of Oppression
Lesbians, particularly lesbians of color, understand the interlocking force racism, sexism, classism and heterosexism have under* Joy Harjo, "I Give You Back," in Making Face, Making Soul, p . 152.
**Aleticia Tijerina, "Notes on Oppression and Violence," in Making Face, Making
Soul, p. 172.

54 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancepatriarchy in this country; the interweaving of these "isms" form
an experience of oppression greater than the sum of its parts. Eachlayer of oppression geometrically expands, compounding the effects of oppression the individual experiences. The authors of the
Combahee River Collective Statement contend that the synthesisof oppressions creates the conditions of their lives. Their objective,
then, is to forge a politic to "combat the manifold and simultaneous
oppressions that all women of color face." They go on to say that
if Black women were free, it would mean that everyone else
would have to be free since our freedom would necessitate
the destruction of all the systems of oppression:
I would add that if a lesbian woman of color is free it would necessitate the liberation of all. All forms of oppression are necessary tomaintain the stations of privilege.
Pat Parker once wrote in "For the White Person Who Wants toKnow How To Be My Friend," "the first thing you do is to forgetthat i'm Black. Second, you must never forget that i'm Black.""White women have had difficulty knowing how to both "forget
and never forget." Confronting racism is something we must do,
not because it is the politically correct thing to do, but because it isnecessary for our survival. We must celebrate and value women,
all women, and racism separates us, cutting us off from the knowledge, experience and passions of one another. To the degree that wediminish anyone for their difference, we are diminished for our own.
To the degree that we buy / condone/ participate in this society's beliefs that people of color are inferior to whites, we also accept the belief
of women's inferiority to men, the superiority of heterosexuality tohomosexuality, and the right of the middle and upper economic
classes to domination of the poor and working classes.
They Don't Want Us All At Once, But Hour By Hour,
Piece By Piece: Economics Under Patriarchy
Sixty-two cents on the dollar. Unequal pay for equal work. We
understand the economics of patriarchy. Capitalism is a powerfulforce in maintaining the control of women. It reduces our expecta'Combahee River Collective, "Combahee River Collective Statement," in Home
Girls, pp. 272 & 278.

"This poem by Pat Parker is found in several sources, but was originally publishedin a collection of her poetry, Movement in Black, p. 68.

Winter 1992/93 55

tions, causing us to consider ourselves "lucky" when we have a jobthat pays the bills, or a workplace where we suffer minimal harassment. Men who leave their families and never pay the child support
ordered by the court are not considered guilty of child abuse; they aretreated as more akin to those who do not repay their school loans.
Yet we resist. Lesbians throughout the country are fighting for faircompensation, work environments that fit the worker rather than
forcing the employee to fit the workplace, and entrance into professions once designated for men only. Because of the work of lesbians
and gay men, a few companies are beginning to extend benefits to ourpartners. Many of us entering the workplace today have unprecedented opportunities because of the work of our foremothers.
However, what is needed is for us to develop an economic system
which eases our burden and the inequality we experience, while notplacing additional shackles on those similarly oppressed in society
today. Charlotte Bunch, in her article, ''Not for Lesbians Only" describes what she considers the relationship of lesbians to our capitalisticsystem: "It is not okay to be queer under patriarchy-and the lastthing we should be aiming to do is make it okay. Nothing in capitalist
patriarchal America works to our benefit, and I do not want to see us
working in any way to integrate ourselves into that order. Our very
strength as lesbians lies in the fact that we are outside patriarchy;
our existence challenges its life. To work for acceptance is to workfor our own disintegration./I·
Our resistance is not a fight for acceptance. Our objective is not togain privilege at the expense of others. Ours is a challenge to differentiate between assimilation and equality in our efforts to create a morejust society. Our challenge is a difficult one and necessitates a great
deal more conversation than it has been given recentlyinourcommunities. So much more is necessary if we are to understand the need forthe interlocking systems of domination in our society to maintain thestatus quo. Anyradicat revolutionary change, any formoftrue liberation, will come from this understanding.
"You've Come a Long Way Baby" - Then Stop Calling Me Baby
The appropriation of our bodies has been a cornerstone of maledomination with devastating effects, extending well beyond our' Charlotte Bunch, Passionate Politics, p . 181.

56 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceactions and into our thoughts and beliefs about ourselves. Recently, ina class I was taking, the students - all female and mostly lesbian had a discussion about our bodies. The discussion began when the
instructor, who has had both breasts removed because of cancer,
said that she found a freedom in not having breasts any longer.
Women responded by declaring their anger that they must conceal
their bodies in clothes two sizes too big, to feel safe; their sadness thatwomen's bodies have been so objectified that they cannot see theirown bodies clearly; their rage that being female means that th~y must
think twice about where they go, who they're with, and what time itis, to determine whether or not they are likely to be safe.
We are jus tified in our fear. It seems every woman is a victim ofeither rape, incest, sexual abuse or harassment - or knows a woman
who is. The arm of appropriation extends even further as our bodies,
our right of self-determination, is legislated. With Roe v. Wade (1973),
women believed that our right to privacy had finally been won. Butthat right has been eroded. We need to remember as lesbians thatthe appropriation of women's bodies is not just a heterosexual
women's issue, but an issue for all of us . Appropriation is about
control and this lesbian's body and yours are no less important tothose who preach "family values" and impose the values of the reactionary right than are the bodies of our straight and bi sisters.
Yet change is all around us. Laws have been changed andenacted to protect women from abuse, including those regarding
birth control and sterilization. Women have begun speaking outand pressing charges - against those who commit incest andsexual abuse. An "underground railroad" has been establishedwhere women whose children have been sexually abused by theirfathers go to protect them when these fathers are given c~stodyrights. Women are fighting back.
We are resisting. Our individual and collective action does
make a difference. Lesbian feminists have made an important
contribution to the analysis of systems of oppression. We are in ourhomes, the workplace and the courtrooms, fighting the appropriation of our bodies, our sexuality, our persons. We are angry because
consciousness leaves us no alternative. But we also have hope.
Oppression may be alive and well under patriarchy, but so are theacts we commit in resistance to it.

Winter 1992/93 57

Susan Rosenberg

Redefining Moment
When we were arrested the government and all its agents knew wewere revolutionaries. They knew it because of the materials theycaptured along with our bodies. We had guns, explosives, and false
LD. There had been a three year hunt for over twenty N orthamericanradicals, and this was the first big break for the government. Despite
the fact that they knew what category of prisoner we were they did
not know who we were. We wouldn't tell them our identities. We
wouldn't say anything. We were not cooperating. They fingerprinted us but they had to fly our prints to Washington D.C. andwait for the central FBI identification. For some reason unknown
to us it took over fourteen hours for this procedure. In those hoursof waiting they kept us in separate rooms, each one of us chained
to a chair. They screamed questions at us for hours on end. They
played "good cop,/I 'bad cop./I They offered us water but refused abathroom. I had to wait five hours for them to locate one of two
women who were New Jersey State Troopers to take me to thebathroom. It was every bad detective novel come to life. It was avery long fourteen hours. Perhaps the longest I have ever spent. We
wanted them to make the identification of us and go public so that
our comrades would know we were in State custody and theywould retreat. More than anything we wanted them to get away.
Finally, when the head of the Philadelphia FBI office walked in
the room, he just stared at me. He darted his eyes back and forthacross my face and then his eyes locked onto mine. His lips curled
and then he started. He said "this bitch is a kike, get the fugitive
posters and find the kikes./I As they brought the posters in and held
them to my face and matched poster after poster my Jewish blood
ran hot and then cold. The same man came back into the room andsaid "I can always tell a kike. At least now we know it's the kikes
with the niggers./I Within minutes they had identified me.
Like so many times to come a freeze frame of one image after
another passed through my mind. Everything in the physical world
receded and slow moving pictures replaced the dirty windowlessroom, the stale air, and the overwhelming ache to urinate. My body58 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancestill chained and the odor of my own fear, and anger, and loss
filtered to my nose. But my mind was gone, into its own world. The
images took me on an inner journey that the menin the room couldn't
begin to understand, or see any outwardly visible signs of.
I was catapulted backwards to an earlier time, to a 20 year oldmemory of my best friend's mother handing me a tuna fish sandwich and her sleeve riding up her arm to expose the tattooed
number on her wrist. And my eight-year-old questions to her.
"What is that? Why is it on your wrist? Why don't you wash it off?/I
Her answer, "It's from the concentration camp. I will never forgetthat, and I can't wash it off." And I, persistent, "Why? What was
that?/I Her answer, "Because we are Jewish./I Later my Motherexplaining to me what the camps were, who the nazis were, aboutbad people hating us because we were Jewish. And my questions:"Did we do something bad? Are we bad? Did we kill them first?
Did she know other people in the camps?" Her answer, yes, sheknew other people, many of them I knew too. And, yes, many ofthe
people from our family had been "exterminated" in the camps.
Exterminated? Like the termites in the house in the commercial?
Her answers didn't make me understand, but learning about genocide when one is eight years old informs the rest of one's life, even
if it lies as an inner memory. Chained to the chair, I rememberedthat I thought about the tattoo for a long time.
And as one image led to another I remembered, after learning
about genocide agains t my own family, the image of a young Blackman hanging by the neck from a lynching and rehearing my aunt
explain to me the Billie Holliday song, "Strange Fruit," and the tattoos
and concentration camps were the same thing. White people treatedBlack people the way the nazis had treated the Jewish people.
A tumble of images came one faster than the next. Images andmemories of being Jewish that I had forgotten, or so I thought.
Sitting in the Synagogue upstairs in the back with the women andwondering why we had to sit upstairs. Watching my grandfather
pray one morning when he didn't know I was standing in the door.
Standing on the boardwalk watching hundreds of old people
walking into the water to throwaway their sins and remember thedead. Lighting candles for the dead. Sitting at the table listening toa mix of Yiddish and English with my grandmother's food spread
before us.

Winter 1992/93 59

And then other memories, conflicting memories that emerged
as I sat there. The ideas and events that shaped me into an antizionist. How my Jewishness was assumed because it was simply
who we were and the community that we lived in. Being Jewish
was as much cultural and social as anything else. It was not religious. The tumble of images of the Israelis occupying Gaza and theWest Bank, and other parts of Palestine. The use of racism andoppression against Arab peoples justified in the name of fighting
the holocaust and anti-semitism. Participating in demonstrations
at CCNY where the JDL split Arab students' heads and called us
self-hating Jews. The bombing of Lebanon and the photographs ofthe victims. Bombs made and dropped by the United States. I
remembered the fights among Jews about U.s. and Israeli policy.
And all this was a hypocrisy to me . Ahypocrisy because how could
we as Jews do to another people what had been done to us?
Freedom at the expense of another's is not freedom. And so I put
distance between me and my Jewish self. In the American Jewish
community throughout the 1970s and 1980s, supporting the Stateof Israel became synonymous with being a "good Jew," and for me
rejecting that position entailed forgetting part of my own memory.
I failed to see a connection between racism, which I had so vigorously opposed, and anti-semitism. I failed to see that I could support Palestine and still be Jewish. And even if I didn't relate tomyself as Jewish, there were always anti-semites who would. Antisemites who didn't give a damn about my position on Israel, or its
role in the Middle East. In fact those very same Ku Klux Klanners
and racists who were organizing against Black people in America
were saying Blacks and Jews in the very same breath.
Sitting in the barracks in New Jersey, waiting to be identified,under interrogation, my own relationship to my Judaism wasirrevocably changed. What came to me was "this is Jew hating."
This is the beginning of a captured life. And an internal vista
opened in my head. Years of rejection and denial came unchained
and I smiled at those hateful, racist, anti-semitic white men, those
government agents, because in their bigoted selves they had enabled me to find a wealth of inner resistance. An anti-zionist, antiracist, very Jewish self. When the FBI agent said "Rosenberg," I
said, "That's right."

60 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Laura Whitehorn. "Fourteen Days, Loss of Privileges""
DC JailI don't do well with the prison authorities.
Told to move,
I stand stock still.
"Stand still," they sayI move.
OrneryBad
DisobedientUnrepentant
I like me that way.

After the Confiscation of GCN #2 .
Lexington, 1992

There's been a terrible mistake.
You've just informed meThat homosexuality
is not permitted
in this institution.
I now inform you
That I am a homosexual.
Therefore, I am not
permitted
in this institution
and must be
immediately released.
*Jaillanguage for two weeks in the hole.

Winter 1992/9361

JoAnn Starr

A Society of Captive Women

N early two thousand women prisoners live at the Federal Medical
Facility at Lexington, Kentucky. Leona Helmsley spent a long two
weeks here. Lynette Fromme and a handful of Puerto Rican freedom fighters were buried in a cellar under this prison until the
ACLU won their transfers to more humane quarters. Kim W. of
Rush fame served her sentence here, as well as many other names
familiar to the American public.
Here, we're all the same. We abide by the rules, wear the samedrab blue uniforms, and try to hold on to our individuality. We're
women, jealous and emotional, strong and proud, young, old andin between, all the shades, shapes and temperaments found in any
society. We are all oppressed by a male-dominated judicial system.
Some of our sentences sound like longevity statistics. Most of oursentences were doled out in extreme prejudice simply because weare women. Women get longer sentences than men for the same
crime, and do more time on their sentence. It isn't fair, but it's fact.
EM.C. Lex is a highly concentrated, slightly exaggerated example of the oppression of women found anywhere in society. The
guards, staff and work supervisors, mostly men, feel their power
more strongly and use it more freely because we are prisoners, but
the treatment is the same as we've had all our lives. It's only moreclearly defined, more obvious and more frequent. We are talked
down to. Our needs are ignored or disparaged. We are threatened,bullied, cursed, and fondled (it's called a "pat search") every day.
Sometimes the abuse is so subtle the abused doesn't notice it orrecognize it as such. Some are so conditioned to abuse that it feels
natural, perhaps like foreplay, and they giggle, flirt and encourage
it. But that attitude is held by only a few ... or is it?
During the Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas fiasco, we crowded
the TV rooms every day. I was stunned and outraged at the superior, sarcastic attitude and the animosity shown by the members of
the senate committee to the brave, calm, well-spoken, obviously62 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

intelligent Anita Hill. I was even more shocked and dismayed by
the reactions of most of my fellow prisoners. These women, themselves victims of similar harassment and abuse, were belittling andridiculing Ms. Hill, while praising and glorifying Judge Thomas.
Didn't they listen to the testimonies? Or are women so beaten andsubdued that we see this kind of treatment as normal and right?
Have we forgotten how to think and feel? Don't we remember?
We are women in prison! In the not-too-distant past, we faced
a judge and a prosecutor, again mostly men, and we cried in ourhearts to be heard, understood and believed. We heard witnesses
perjure themselves agains t us. We read newspa per accounts branding us as vile creatures. We, of all people, should have recognized
the honesty and truth in Anita Hill, yet so few of us did.
They must change; we must change. The Equal Rights Amendment has lost ground during the past two administrations, and we
women have allowed it to happen. We must fight to regain this lost
ground, but the change must come from within each of us first. We
must change our self-image, regain our self-respect, self-confidence and self-esteem. Then we must teach, through love andexample. Prison gives us the perfect opportunity for awareness ofthe problem, and the time for necessary growth. We can use thesystem to fight for our rights here and take our lessons home withus. Even in prison, we can make a difference. We should remember
Anita Hill and the victims of Mike Tyson and William Kennedy
Smith and all the other women who have stepped forward against
adversity, who have valued themselves above the reproach andcriticism of the nation. We should set their courage as our standard.
Only then can we be truly free.

Winter 1992/93 63

Sheila Gilhoolybarbara findlay

pieces de resistanceThis piece speaks to our individual resistance to, and transformation of,
the experience of mental hospitals. But more importantly, the working
through of it is something we did together. It is literally and visibly truethat the strength of our individual resistance comes from the strength of
our relationship as survivors with each other. That is what resistance is.
(Sheila's voice is in serif type; barbara's is in sans-serif type .)twenty years gone: the conversation poem for sheila
did they give you shock?

no. not shock. drugs. mynipples leaked. i couldn'tsee. my tongue got thick.
finally
i couldn't write: paradoxical
reactionthey never ever said that there were side effects neversaid you might lose your memory from the shock might
hallucinate from the meds (thefirst time i hallucinated i said: too much meds
they said no dear that's
what the drugs are forand gave me more)
were youcommitted?

"if you don't sign yourself in
I'll commit you"and they call that voluntaryyou?
sometimes/ i was committed. other times(i had to work hard on those times:
i had chosen, after all) other times/

64 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanc;ei signed myself in

one time
i signed someone else in i
committed her. i said(she was hallucinating getting
herself
arrested) i said
if you carryon lil<e this iwill commit you
and she didand i didmy parents came. and some of
my brothers & aunts & uncles. later, years later,
after i'd been on TV, they quit talking inloud voices like i was deaf & asked meinstead what it was like, to be on TV

my parents
never camenor anyone else
do you still/ever/wonder
if you're crazy?

all the time

can i see·your slash marks?

the shock of forgetting/the shock of remembering
I'm not sure why it feels so important to write it all down andmake sure I have the details as clear as I can get them. It doesn't
matter why I need to remember - maybe some because I'm sosurprised and shocked and some frightened that I did forget. I tellmyself - I was having shock treatments, designed to make you
forget. Shock burns things directly onto the brain by creating so. much misery that the image goes and only the misery of the imageis left behind after the acid bath. That's what burned that image out forme. Nothing to do with me - only to do with some thoughtless (orperhaps not so thoughtless) cruelty that uses someone's ugly andhorrifying suicide as a weapon against another, namely against me.

Winter 1992/93 65

I came back from shock and after supervised-time-in-thedayroom, it was late morning. I went to my room and over to my
bed to lie down. My head always ached bad on those days and I
would be confused and shambling and kind of stunned. The closet
was to my left. The doors were open and as I went to fall on my bed
I looked over and saw. She was hanging from the clothes rail and hereyes were all bugged out and white and her tongue was pushing outof her mouth and making her mouth this ugly protrusion that didn't
even look like a mouth. Her face was all puffy and bloated-like. And
the smell caught in my throat and all this shit and piss was on thefloor and on her legs and her nightgown. She would often throw
tantrums.and refuse to dress in the morning and thus refuse to go todining hall. Since she was there for anorexia they would force feed
her with tubes and she would snuffle all the day long and whine
about how mean everyone was to her- not a very likeable woman
but she did have her poin t of view and they weren't very nice to her.
I remember retching violently.
After that I only remember being locked in seclusion andfeeling humiliated and like I had brought it all on myself and how
could I be so self-centred and indulgent as to get upset when she
was like dead and as one of the nurses pointed out to me it's not likewe even got along.
This memory will never surprise me again. It will never hauntme with its left-over of shame and guilt for something that wasn't
my fault. I always knew that the pain around that wasn't mine. But.for twenty years the only way I could know that was to forgetwhat
happened. Now I know that they caused me the pain. Now I will
never forget. I will remember Denise.

ancient history
i asked if i could turn out the light. .
you reached over me, your breast
brushing my face, and clicked us into darkness.
relieved, i rolled over, took you in my arms,
more confident the slash marks on mywrist
would go unseen.

66 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancei had forgotten about them, forgotten tobuy a bandage, make up a story to see myself
through the possibility that we would
end up in your bed.
as i held you i ran my mind over the
chancethat your fingers would findwhat your eyes couldn't see, wondered
to myself what i would say.
i held the words in my mouth
like stones:
i cut myself
a fissure opened,
deeper, bloodier, more
painful than the cuts.
i have no explanation. no story to offer.
i have no memory. only the talisman ofsome other time , recent
by the healing of the scars
which will fadethis morning i stood beside you, naked,
looking into the mirror
my arm hidden behind you in a hug.
the scars will fade .
only the fissure
will remain .
but i still have the knife.

What is the Matter?
In the Matter of
A Complaint to the Ontario College of Physicians and Surgeons
Re: Donald H. Upton, M.D.
I, Barbara Findlay, lawyer, adjunct law professor, and L 1 M candidate, of 5-2023 Grant St., of the City of Vancouver, Province ofBritish Columbia, make oath and say as follows :1. I am the complainant herein and as such have personalWinter 1992/93 67

knowledge of the matters hereinafter deposed to except wherestated and, where so stated, I verily believe them to be true.
2.(a) I was a patient of Dr. Donald Upton from approximately
October 1966 to approximately August 1968, except forthe summer
months May to August 1967.
(b) In October 1966 I was seventeen years and four months old.
3. During that time I was a scholarship student in first year, andthen in second year, at Queen's University, Kingston, Ontario.
4. During that time Dr. Donald Upton was a psychiatrist with the
Queen's Student Health Service.
5. During the time I saw Dr. Upton he had me in psychoanalysis.
6. For the first period of several months or perhaps more than a
year, I saw Dr. Upton threetimesa week.lsaw him inthesecond year
at least twice a week, perhaps three times a week, as I recall.
7. During approximately March 24 to approximately May 1 of
1967 I was hospitalized by Dr. Upton in the psychiatric ward ofKingston General Hospital.
8. When I returned to Queen's in the fall of 1967 Dr. Upton advised me that he had been consulted by the university as to myfitness to continue school and he had told them that I would be alrightprovided that I continue therapy. He communicated thatto me in sucha way that I believed that if I discontinued therapy with him it would
jeopardize my schooling.
9.(a) While I was in psychoanalysis, I believe in the fall of 1967,
Dr. Upton requested that I babysit for him and his wife . I agreed.
(b) Dr. Upton and his wife picked me up at the student residence
where I was then living, driving their station wagon. I got into the backseat with his three children. fdiscovered that two of his three children
were deaf.
(c) Dr. Upton had not told me that two of his children were deaf.
(d) When I later asked him why he had not told me that hischildren were deaf he said he wanted to see how I would react.
(e) While he had me in psychotherapy, Dr. Upton told me that hethought I should make my career working with deaf children. To thatend he told me he wanted to introduce me to a friend of his who worked
with deaf children in Belleville,Ontario. Howeverthough he carried the idea
and the promise in front of me, the meeting never happened.
1O.(a) During the summer of 1968 Dr. Upton hired me and another ofhis patients, a male student, to work on a project for the summer.
(b) The project was to do research and a survey related to theability or lack thereof of women students successfully to perform in68 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceengineering schools. The hypothesis was that women were unablesuccessfully to do engineering because of an inability to conceptualize spatially.
(c) I was to be paid $1000 for the work over the summer.
(d) The other student and I were assigned reading to do, and left
to work together. Dr. Upton asked me during therapy how I was getting
along with the male student, and suggested to me that I should draw
hi m out. He said thatthis student was very shy, and was also ascholarshipstudent, and it would be therapeutic for him if I drew him out. I later discovered that he had told the male student the same thing about me.
(e) Dr. Upton never paid me any money at all for the work of thesummer. When I asked him in September 1968 about being paid, hesaid he was not going to pay me. I do not remember his explanation.
11. On one occasion while I was in therapy with Dr. Upton, he told
me something about his life of which he was ashamed. He told methat if I ever repeated what he said he would deny having said it.
12. During the entire time that I was in psychoanalysis with Dr.
Upton I believed that I was seriously mentally ill and that my only hopeof redemption lay through working with him.
13. I remember very little of the content of the psychoanalysis that
I did with Dr. Uptofl.
14.1 am a lesbian. I discovered that I might be a lesbian atthe time
I was in psychoanalysis with Dr. Upton. He refused to acknowledge
the possibility.
15. I have been treated subsequently by psychiatrists and by lay
therapists. I was hospitalized for six weeks in 1968.
16. I have not made a complaint about the treatment I received
from Dr. Upton before now because it was not until I was relating my
psychiatric history recently that I realized that his behavior was
professionally inappropriate.
.
17. This affidavit is sworn to the best of my information, belief,
and recollection.
18. I swear this affidavit is in support of a formal complaint to theCollege of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario with respect to the
conduct of Dr. Donald Upton as herein described and sworn.
1991 at the City of
Sworn before me this _ day of
Vancouver, Province of British Columbia.
A commissioner for taking oaths in
the Province of British Columbia

Barbara Findlay

Winter 1992/93 69

dear shariwell, old friend, i'm at it again.
here it is, 26 November 1991 2:20 am, writing away in a hot blazeof anger and pain. i have just written a four page affidavit so that i canswear a formal complaint against dr. upton, that shrink i saw yea, thesemany years ago. remember him? he's the one that put me in the hospitalthat first time, when you were in alliston and i was in kingston.
this summer i went off to see if i was (still? again?) crazy. i didn't
tell you at the time since you were on your way to australia for the fall
and i didn't want to weigh you down with worry (are you mad? don'tbe). the expedition was a complete and utter waste of time as thepsychiatrist behaved just like a psychiatrist - said, when i asked her
what benefit she thought i would get and how long she thought thiswould take, that she wondered why i wanted to know that. because
i don't take my car in for repair without knowing that sort of thing, isaid. and what kind of work did she do? i went on. as in, whose work
did she value. well, she said, i could tell you that but i don't think it
would be appropriate. it is clear that you have an issue about control,
she continued.
no kidding. i couldn't believe it. it was out of a 1950 parody ofpsychiatry.
however it was in the course of relating the treatment i'd had fromupton (and her response, which was that it was abusive) that isuddenly realized how awful it all was.
(and if i am still crazy, well, i am still crazy. i take comfort in thethought that i am also the sanest person i know.)
so here i am, months later and in the middle of the night (at thisrate of processing things i'li still be up at 3 a.m. when i'm 102)
FURIOUS. i think of myself: a CHILD, for christs sake. and the way
he treated me!!! he would have been about the age i am now. i can't
imagine treating a teenager, a teenager completely dependent onme and absolutely trusting of me, like that.
i don't think i can convey the depth of my rage, which is deeper
than deep because it has taken so long for me to see that what hedid was wrong .
i really hope that i don't discoverthat he abused me in ways i don't
yet remember. i couldn't possibly handle that much anger.
i have had many kickbacks of self-blame as i composed my dry
affidavit: this is no big deal. lots of people had it worse than you . what

70 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceare you whining about? it's your fault anyway - you dingbat, why
didn't you raise a stink at the time if he didn't pay you for the work hehired you to do? what a fool. no one is going to believe you now anyway.
you know your memory is the pits - how can you be so absolutely sureof these things (and i am) if you can't remember any of the rest of it? if you
tell them this they will just discredit you as a perverVsick/whatever (iput it all in the affidavit - being a lesbian, having subsequent treatment - say everything, they can't get you on nothing, then).
what good is it going to do now, anyway?
my mind races to a cross examination:
now, ms findlay, you say you have had extensive shall we say
emotional or mental treatment over the years?
i have seen therapists, yes.
could you detail, please, forthe court, who you saw, for how long,and for what purpose?
OBJECTION, my lord. the issue in this case is, first, whether the
defendant did or did not do what the complainant ms findlay alleges,
and second, if he did, whether the conduct contravenes the ethicalstandards of the college. i fail to see how questioning the complai nantabout her intervening treatment goes to either of those questions.
with the greatest of respect to my learned friend (they always say
this when they're being sarcastic) she continues to miss the pointshe
is making. of course the issue is whether my client did or did riot dosomething twenty-three years ago. if he did not, then there must bea reason thatthe complainant says that he did. perhaps she believes
he did but is deluded (shades of anita hill - did you get that story
down there?). perhaps she has had the idea suggested to her by her latest
psychiatrist. perhaps her memory is selective, or partial, or simply mistaken. i want to explore all of those possibilities and i submit i have the rightand the duty on behalf of my client to canvass each and every one ofthose possibilities with the utmost thoroughness. if a professional is
to be held to account for actions or inactions past the time of any
limitation act for civil action, if we as a society are to conclude that the
pro-fessional's liability extends that far, and that he or she may bedisciplined or even lose his or her licence on the basis of allegations
that are this old, then surely we must be scrupulous about permitting
the defendant in that situation every latitude in cross examination.
my lord, this is one of those cases, like rape cases, like sexual
harassment cases, where the conduct of the case itself is as impor-Winter 1992/93 71

tant to the outcome as substance of the complaint. if you permit mylearned friend limitless cross-examination, in effect requiring thecomplainant to reveal all of her personal history for the past twentythree years, as a condition of a successful prosecution, then themessage you will be sending to all patients who may have been or
may be mistreated by their physicians that the price of complaining
is far too high. there must be a balance.
once again, my lord, my friend has tripped over her own point. we
had a rape shield law. presumably it was enacted outofthevery sentiments
the crown refers to. it protected rape victims from cross examination about
their prior sexual history. but, my lord, as you will be aware, that law
was struck down only a few months ago in the seaboyer case. somuch as i appreciate the concerns of my learned friend on behalf ofthe complainant, and indeed much as i sympathize with the situation of
any complainant in proceedings such as these, in my respectful submission the law cannot substitute sympathy for justice.
the judge: i have your objection, madame crown counsel, and argument from both of you . i shall take time to consider my ruling . court
stands adjourned till tomorrow morning .
etc etc etc etc etc (in whose favour would YOU rule??? actuallyi think the crown isn't a very good lawyer. i imagine a young woman,maybe 5 years experience, up against some high priced senior grey
haired male litigator... )fortunately i recognize the self-blame kickbacks for what they are- but it makes it only marginally easier. fuck it is hard and fuck it isinfuriating and fuck it is unfair to have to live my life in the face of a
global expectation that i will not be believed. it occurs to me that thatis why i am so honest most of the time!!! they don't believe me evenwhen i tell the truth , they'll NEVER believe me if i lie.
anyway. my stomach is churning my jaws are clenched and i cansee sleep will be a while to come yet. fortunately for me i just h3ppen
to have 100 or 200 hours of work here, so no problem. and i don't
have to get up in the morning.
to the "why bother" question, which is the one that keeps recurring, the answer seems to be: i have all these credibility papers forsomething. i have a responsibility to use them. in other words if i'mafraid they won't believe me - socially certified credible as i am,what with all these degrees - who WILL they believe? and who
COULD have the courage.

72 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceanyway. it's now 26 November 1991 3:03am. writing that little
cross examination has amused me and brought my rage level down
to manageable proportions. i'm actually feeling sleepy.
take care. love to both of you.
ps. 26 November 1991 9:43am
i phoned the ontario college of physicians and surgeons to file thecomplaint.
donald howard upton died a year ago.

November 28, 1991
Dear barbara
I told you I would remember how it went so I'm writing it all
down before going to sleep in case anything gets lost before morning. Then I can tell you about it if you forget, and you can also haveyour own record.
So it went like this. You read me the affidavit, the cross-examination, the letter to Shari - all about Dr. Upton. I asked you how
it felt to have all the details clear and remembered. You said you felt
bad but that it all seemed very puny to you and maybe you were justwhining about something that wasn't so terrible. (you, who are so not
like that. it's amazing how they make us question even the things thatare most true about ourselves) I said I didn't think it was puny, you
asked me to say more about that-so I did. I said i thought he had
used you and abused your trust and cheated you, and all the while
claiming to be the only thing standing between you and madness.
You said, "I could have said something about it then." I reminded
you that you were 17 years old and dependent on this man and hemanipulated you. We talked about how being manipulated left
one feeling like "maybe it was all my fault," and we talked about
how much shame went with that. Then I'm pretty sure I said "heshould be ashamed, not you." You then said OON'TSAYTHATmost
emphatically. I asked what part, and you kept repeating "don't saythat" and sounding more and more distressed each time. Your breathing got faster and very laboured. I asked again what not to say andyou said something about shame tha t I didn't catch, and your breathing got really raw. Then you said "it hurts" with such anguish that thewords seemed to be squeezed out of you. You asked me to talk to youWi nter 1992/93 73

and I did and all the while you struggled painfully to breathe. You
cried out in pain and you said several times that it hurt too much.
I kept talking and you kept breathing like that for some time andyou said NO with great distress many, many times. After a while,
your breathing started coming back to normal and I said your nameand you said "I'm okay really I am" and then you asked me what was
happening with me. I talked a bit about that but was more interested
at that moment in what was going on for you. But before I could ask,
you asked me what had jus t happened, and said you couldn't remember any of it. So I told you all this as well as I could remember the exact
order of things. You had no memory of it and were trying to figure out
when and why you left the conversation. We talked about shame as
we had been talking before the painstarted. You started again that you
could have protested back then (though I don't see how) and that hecould have done worse and you were pretty sure he hadn't. You said
nobody would think it was a big deal, or even believe it ever happened. I told you I believed you, and that it felt to me like a very big
deal. You asked me what I was feeling and Isaid very tender about you
and very angry at him for what he did to you, for all those details set
out in the affidavit, and I started to review them and then you said "He
did worse." I asked you to tell me about it and you made a couple ofstarts and then your breathing started to go very raw again. You criedout in great pain and kept saying - " no, don't do this." This time wasshorter but seemed more painful and much more fearful. Breathing
seemed to hurt just as much but when you said NO it seemed more
about another fear than the pain. The first time had seemed allaboutthepainoratleast that's all you spoke of. You didn't sayso much
this time except no but I could feel the terror in your voice and thatterror was real. Again your breathing went slowly back to normal,
and again you asked me what was going on for me. You didn't accept"I'm fine," so I elaborated some and kind of made my way back towhat you had said about Dr. Upton doing worse. You told me you had
no words left and that you wouldn't remember any of it. I told you I
would remember it for you. You apologized for whimpering at me
and I told you that you never had to be sorry for that. You thanked
me for being there for you. I tell you again and as many times as you
want to hear it - I'm right here, i'm not going anywhere. I have astrong stomach, I'm not afraid and I love you very much.
Sheila74 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

L. A . Dyer

If Only Resistance Counted

as Forbearance on Student Loans
Resistance t~ heteropatriarchal domination feels like an eternal
catch-22, caught between a rock and a hard place, damned ifwe do
and damned if we don't. I am tired of being the maid with herbroom, endlessly sweeping, yet the mess gets bigger and nastierand more dangerous with each passing day. If we don't continue
our work, surely the toxicity will overpower us. Meanwhile, thevery act of cleaning up the world's garbage, created primarily by
patriarchy's destructive institutions, poisons us as well.
Where do we begin to unravel these damaging, prejudicial
systems so that we are capable, as wimmin and as lesbians, ofremembering our wholeness? How do we step outside abusive
environments, which we are dependent on in many complex ways,
to create something different? A womyn' s healing remains a politicalissue as our internal lives, our very psyches, mirror the conditionaland oppressive man-dates of our external world.
This is an intensively personal issue for me since recently completing a masters in holistic psychological counseling. Throughout .
the course of my studies I came to see that traditional psychology,
as a whole, is based on incredibly sexist and classist criteria, values
and assumptions. How then can a feminist/lesbian therapist baseher therapeutic interactions with wimmin on widely accepted,
male-defined psychological truisms? (How can she not?) Is eventhe endeavor not a contradiction in terms? Questioning the validity of psychotherapy, and specifically my role in contributing to theemotional growth and spiritual evolution of wimmin, is the form
my political resistance has taken.
Thanks to the pioneering work of feminist psychologists, thefield has finally begun to acknowledge basic and significant gender differences in termS of healthy psychological growth and development. New models of understanding, which honor female
ways of knowing and being, if not yet embraced, are at least being
explored. Feminist research indicates that most wimmin, whenWinter 1992/93 75

given the opportunity, will attempt to create nurturing and egalitarian interactions through the use of empathy. Studies further
reveal that unlike males, we actually seek and require mutually
empathic relationships in order to fully develop'.
Sadly, our culture is not based on these egalitarian principles.It' srare for wimmin to have the opportunity to create a cohesive
network of friends- too much time and effort are required merely
to survive. So we go in droves to therapists, attempting to individually heal the atrocious violations which wimmin collectively
sustain. We go alone: to express our remorse and shame, to understand and overcome our phobias and addictions, to vent our rage
and confusion, and to cure our depressions - all of which often
come from, and are exacerbated by, our isolated oppression.
We have been conditioned for many centuries, on the threat ofdeath or worse, to mediate our survival by avoiding conflict withthe dominant gender. We have learned well to not make waves. So
rather than engage in a potential conflict with one another, we takeour difficult and frightening feelings to "emotional issue professionals," telling maybe one, or maybe none of our friends, the truth of ourlives. At least not until we have our "issues" more "worked out" andsomewhat "under control," able to speak more calmly, often in thepast tense - adopting a more rational, less emotive style.
Yet almost every womyn I've ever spoken with, personally or
professionally, has expressed a deep longing for emotional contact. Most of us only dream of living in communities which aresupportive, challenging and spiritually evolving, and with which
we feel a sense of acceptance and belonging-ness. How could suchdeep connections possibly develop if nobod y tells anybody, except
a therapist, her worst fears, or lingering doubts, or deepest joys?
It's true that we're not very comfortable accepting our manydifferences. Most of us hardly accept ourselves in terms of personal needs or style of expression. Our programmed feminine
inferiority cuts deep, encouraging lonely and judgmental seclusion. Learning to effectively communicate after so many centuries
will take much empathy, much acceptance - of self AND other* Jean Baker Miller and the Stone Center - various papers/books; Belenky, et aI,
Women's Way's of Knowing; Chodorow; Gilliga n; Alice Miller, etc.

76 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceand much compassionate honesty among ourselves.
After spending most of my life in pursuit of these qualities, I
studied psychology because I saw it as a possible bridge towards
a more feminist reality - towards living with greater consciousness. Now I find myself asking, how does one do this work withoutcompromising basic ethics or personal integrity?
One of the biggest issues I am faced with is what "good" therapy
typically costs. It's no more than what other professionals charge, butthen who calls the plumber, or visi ts ala wyer or doctor, every week
for many months or years? And what of all the wimmin who cannot
pay $20, much less the more standard fee of $60 for 50 minutes? What
percentage of us have $240 expendable income a month?
Am I supposed to believe the therapeutic rhetoric that if they,or I, truly value ourselves, we'll somehow come up with the cash?
Or are we simply to postpone this assumed necessary growth until
we can better afford it, thereby discounting the struggles andpotential of those who never can? I thought feminism precluded
using convenient rationalizations to justify the continued abandonment of less privileged wimmin.
Of course, if I don't charge the going rate for my counselingservices, then how do I support myself? Imagine the financialpressure of being a working class dyke, $40,000 in debt for a degree
which ostensibly promises 40 to 80 dollars an hour to practice.
Ironically, practice may indeed be an accurate word because, to myknowledge, no study has ever shown that psychotherapy in itself
leads to wholeness. Yet I and many others look desperately for a"good enough" therapist. So I became one.
But how I embrace it as my life's work is a maddening dilemma. I get frustrated, angry and very confused when I hear so
few "feminist therapists" addressing the class ism inherent within
the basic precepts of conventional therapy. In this and other, moreinsidious ways, I see psychology destroying feminism by continuallytranslating social and political realities into personal pathologies.
Our focus on the private inner life of individuals takes that
focus away from external oppressions, easily promoting a false
sense of individual control and responsibility for institutionalized
injustices. This heavy load often proves incapacitating rather thanmotivating, draining wimmin of the energy for active self-deter-

Winter 1992/93 77

mination. We hide our all too common secrets, acting like things
are basically fine, while too many relationships amount to "sure,
let's do lunch sometime." Surely it's male conditioning whichcauses relational beings to so painfully isolate themselves.
Are we implicitly accepting that only a paid listener cares tohear the pain of our truths - or the ecstasies of our unions? We
don't speak of it in these terms, but what else is it when we hear awomyn in pain, or delirious in love, and think, "Oh shit, I can't handle
this. She needs to see a therapist."? Have we come to believe that
we are incapable of connecting and empathizing, or interacting in a
respectful and focused way, with the depth of another's experience?
I seriously question this insistence on expensive, individual
process as the best solution to our ascribed subordination andabuse. If ten of us combined the standard $60 an hour, individual
therapist fee for one year, we'd have approximately $30,000 toward
the creation of a more nurturing environment in which to live. We
clearly have the ca pacity to do this. In social animals such as ourselves,community naturally evolves when life experiences are shared andaccepted. When we do this, we begin to step outside the toxic, societal
belief systems which cause much of our suffering. Would this not
speed the healing of many of our deepest wounds?
Unfortunately, many of us think that we don't know how to
begin establishing such a radically different world. That belief,
along with many others, will forever keep wimmin dependent andisolated. Perhaps therapy could redeem psychology by challenging these beliefs. Therapeutic group forums, focused on healing
through active community building and rooted in feminist principles, would go a long way towards promoting our collective, andthus individual, wholeness.
It's as simple, and as hard, as meeting together and insisting on
increased class, race, and female consciousness, while empathicallyexamining our assumptions and interactions. It takes energy which too many of us have too little of - fighting the patriarchy
takes too much.
On a spiritual level, I know it's possible for wimmin to movebeyond this world's destructive social programming. Other realities do exist - other ways of living are not only possible for us, but
I believe they are inevitable. Emotionally however, we are a long

78 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceway, individually or globally, from living in supportive societies
based on mutually enhancing relationships. In my opinion, perpetrating accepted, male-defined psychological growth theories contributes greatly to our continued disenfranchisement.
Can any of us really believe thatSO minutes a week with a feminist
therapist could heal this? True, at times it has helped me immensely,
yet I question the validity of charging wimmin for what we would
naturally create, if we became a more cohesive network - knowing
full well that this remains an improbability so long as we take the truthof our experience to a therapist's office instead of to friends or peers.
Admittedly, it may be hard to hear someone complain about
the same thing 70 times, waiting for the moment which allows her
to feel differently. Maybe she simply needs another to point out
what she's doing because she doesn't consciously know it. Or
maybe she needs to hear somebody say, "I don't get it. Tell me
more." This is primarily what therapists do. $40,000 later, I discover that most wimmin, when given a safe enough environment,
intuitively attempt the same thing.
By deeply connecting in this way with many wimmin, we
would not need therapy to acknowledge, or to begin healing from,terrifying childhood abuse, or racist attacks, or classist assumptions of oppression, or yesterday's binge .... Of course, I'm probably
overreacting, talking myself out of a lucrative job because of animmature, feminine fear of success. This presumption is one way
psychology pathologizes our resistance, calling us names when
we don't play the boys' games. However, by refusing them, I
believe we can step outside heteropatriarchal values and begin tocreate new social systems which nurture and sustain us.
Community happens when wimmin work together to express
and accept differences, as well as common values and compatible
goals. I don't know how much psychotherapy can facilitate thisprocess. I do know that I want to be part of such communities.
Perhaps therapeutic group work, if based on empathic and egalitarian feminist principles, could be a bridge - could help create areality where more wimmin spend more time consciously living,instead of endlessly sweeping.
Maybe that reality is one worth practicing for.

Winter 1992/93 79

Lenore Baeli Wang

On Killing Insects
for Sue Hettmansperger

At 9 trauma struck
My father smashed a fly
who flew in our living roombuzzed and dodged
by lamps, by
my grandmother's elbow
She clung to our chairs
her housecoatclung to her arms
like skinthat just as surely
was sucked inward
between all the crevices
in every bone
My father whacked that fly
dead
until I criedOver an insect
he said, wielding the rolled newspaper
in my direction
I sobbed louder

You stupid fool
Grandma clung to her chair
never saying a word
Years later I met you
who showed me
A spider or fly
can be removeda piece of cardboard, a glass80 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

And all those years
I'd been killing them
Although I only knew youa whileeach spider I cup in a glass
each flyrushes its way
back into the world
where somewhere
you then and now
enact the same kindness•. 1_ ...

Repercussions
pen & ink, 1987

Janice Hansen

Winter 1992/93 81

Jasrnine Marah

The Process is the ProductOut into the garden, 6:30am. It's rained the past two nights andall of yesterday, so it's still cool, an uncharacteristically grey day. It
will be hot, hot by 10:00.
Wet has a character all its own and even in the city when it rains
during the summer, I sometimes catch a whiff of strawberries, as
though they could soften the sidewalks with their color alone.
In this garden, strawberries crawl over the straw, intertwinedwith flamboyant squash plants. I lie down on pavers that form thepathway. Gardening, I scooch on my tuchis or crawl on hands andknees. I can't bend, I can't get up and down, and this is a good solution. The paths make the communal garden accessible to wimmin inwheelchairs and easier for carts.
On the path, I roll close to the prickly-stemmed squash plants.
Under the leaves are tiny tendrils, delicate as steam wisps. The
blossoms are astonishing, new every time I look at them. Clear,pure orange fluted into a simple trumpet, they stay attached to thepaler yellow crooknecked squashes, diminishing, becoming small
brown navels on the ready-to-pick squash.
I lie with my cheek on the warm moist straw, my head under thevaulted space created by the huge translucent leaves. The enfolding
peace is what I have worked for, but to keep it I must keep working.
The work is tiring and, as it often is with work, endless. I findmyself up at first light many mornings. Wanting this project tosucceed as though my life depends on it drives me. I started thiscommunity, never knowing if it would succeed. But I'm stronger
now than I have been in 25 years. Work, mixing physical andintellectual work every day helps me. Most of all, the frequentemotional support and appreciation of my work from the otherwimmin heals me.
There are, of course, days I'm drained by seemingly endlessprocessing, and I can feel that everyone is weary of dealing withme, too. Today was one of those days. I was almost at the end of twohours of weeding and sna~l-picking when Melody rolled in. Last
woman out of the 72 on the land I wanted to see, I'll admit. I loved

82 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Melody once, but now, just when I get one thing right, she's got
another complaint. Problem is, she makes a lot of sense, and I want
to give her what she needs - but there must be a better way for us
to communicate.
"Sarah!" Melody peered down at me frowning. "You promised
the EI girls that you'd make sure we could move freely on theland!""0, god. Did I make such an enormous, unrealistic promise?""You did, Sarah, you know you did. And now the healing
house is full of camphor or menthol or something. It's totally
unacceptable. You are responsible for seeing to it that the healing
workers respect our needs!""You're right, Melody. But I've been busy. I'm sorry. I guessthey were doing treatment for Stone, who fell yesterday while she
was working on the theatre deck. .. ""That's no excuse. Do able-bodied dykes get preferential treatment around here because their work is visible? Or because their
healing is so much quicker?" Melody's voice got squeaky. "Just because the health care workers can't help me to be healthy, can't get
immediate gratification seeing one of their patients get fixed ..."
I knew how she felt. I have been disabled since childhood andhave chronic illnesses. I'd struggled for years, but I'm lucky. I'm
finally healing even though my underlying, orthopedic disability
is mine forever.
"I'msorry. You really have a point. For today would you accept
treatment in your own house while we clear the healing house?""You'll never get it, will you, Sarah? I don' twant those wimmin
in my house. And how do you propose to clear the healing housein one day?"I wanted to scream, run. But I stayed on the ground, knowing
the situation would only get worse if I didn't take care of it now.
"How about if I ask the building crew to erect a temporary
shelter to be used by EI dykes only until the healing house is safe
again, will that work?"
Melody shrugged . "I don't know. But at least it's a start. I haveto ask the others and see how they feel.""And would you be willing to meet directly with the building
crew at breakfast to say what your needs are?" I was not expecting
Melody to agree. She tires quickly, and usually eats alone, so I was
surprised when she said OK.

Winter 1992/93 83"I'll get together with Honey and Jane now - I know they'reup. Then we'll meet the building crew at breakfast."
I thanked Melody, and as I watched her wheel away, a rush oftenderness came over me; those old feelings come up easily. Now
I just had to find one of the building crew and hope she'd get theothers to meet with Melody.
There are only five dykes left on the building crew. Still hot
here, very hot, so many of the city wimmin who visit and work fora week or two have gone instead to the coast. The young, stillgoing-to-school dykes are back at school. These five dykes are partof the long term community, or want to be. Toni is the newest here,
and committed to a nine-month stay.
I'm very attracted to her perfectionism, her small, tough body.
Toni's quiet most of the time, but in community meetings has
clarity, gained from working in the wimmin's resistance camps here
and in Europe, and teaching wimmin's self defense. She's not attracted to me, though, and I wonder if it's because I'm too big or toobusy. Toni says she's had fat girlfriends before and it has nothing
to do with it. So I'm already uptight when I approach her house.
"I'm up, Sarah, come in.""OK. Hi, Toni. I came to ask a favor."
Entering Toni's house reminded me of lying with my cheekunder the squash leaves. The space seems vaulted and cool, peaceful. It is a small house, tidy and full of filtered light.
Toni came on land with five dykes, friends, who helped her get
her cabin together in a little over a week. She'd done auto mechanics
for them for about six months, as a trade, looking forward to this time.
I was very impressed with her from the beginning. She had aplan for her domicile, blueprints. The details pleased my architect's
eye. Small operable windows, mixed between cupboards and open
shelving, seemed to bring light in from everywhere at once. Yet
there was no glare.
Now, with flowers and dried leaves and weeds in jars and bowls,
and with Toni's lively graphics on the walls, it was really a jewel.
She was lying in bed, stroking her cat, Harlequin, with only asheet covering her. I'm shy, know I'm responding ina ppropria tely.
I just" wanted to crawl into bed with her. So I get quite gruff.
Everything's coming out wrong.
"Toni, Melody wants to meet with the building crew at breakfast. Will you and the others meet with her?"84 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance"I'm not on call here, Sarah. You can't just use your power todirect my day. I want to start my day my own way." Toni was nevergood in the mornings. It took her several hours to "come into theworld," she said.
"Toni, I know you're right, but I need your help. I've been up
for hours," I added childishly. " Someone treated Stone in the healing
house with menthol or something and now the EI wimmin can't havetheir usual treatments there, nor can anyone who's doing homeopathy, because neither group can be around strong aromas.""So, why is that my problem?"''Well, I offered to have one of the temporary shelters put up forhealing work for the EI wimmin while the healing house gets aired
out, and I asked Melod y to meet directly with the building crew to
discuss needs. I'm sorry. ... " I began to apologize before Toni could
respond. Suddenly, I wanted Joan, Charlene, Tanya and Carmelita
with me, the other members of the negotiating crew for this quarter. Carrying a message was now becoming a complicated interaction. I could see Toni needed support, but I didn't feel able to pleadwith her and support her at the same time. I needed support, eventhough I was in the responsible position. I decided to try once again
before I made negotiation an offer to Toni.
"Toni, I imagine that you have your day all worked out, and I
realize that getting interrupted makes tasks more difficult. But
Melody is right. She and Honey and Jane and the others need tohave treatments every day.... /1 I flushed. This conversation, asking
her for something she didn't want to give me, made me feel like I
was asking Toni all over again if she would be sexual with me. But
I couldn't admit that.
"You wimmin who have been mothers. You are so parental witheveryone. And, Sarah, you' re so controlling. Just because you had
the opportunity to start this wimmin's community. You'd better start
realizing that without us you'd have nothing: no community./1 She
swiveled her legs over the edge of the bed and got up. Harlequinjumped and, landing near my feet, started a playful attack.
Toni went into her bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Oh shit, now surely I'd blown it. There was nothingto do now but
wait for Toni to come out and offer her negotiation.
But Toni surprised me. "Sarah, I'll meet with the EI dykes andI'll let Stone, Tatyanna, Mirna and Molly know about it. I can't say
if they'll come or not. But this is the second time in as many weeks

Winter 1992/93 85

that you've called on the building crew to solve a problem that we
didn't create."
I was defensive and grateful all at once. The juggling of different people's needs was stressing me. I wasn't going to be able to go
on doing this. It all felt too much like being a mom, only there were
too many kids. The wimmin I was interacting with would hate itif they knew I felt that way!
"And Sarah, there is another thing." Toni was talking again, andI'd better pay attention. "This problem that the EI dykes are havingwith the healing house, that's really the fault of the health workers.
Why don't they have to have pre-breakfast and breakfast meetings?
Are you afraid of them because they are all middle-class girls?""Well, it could be that I am, but I'd like to ask the negotiatingteam to meet with the EI girls, the building crew, the health workers and me, and find some resolution. We could coordinate schedules and do it, not in a rush, but when it's convenient for everyone.""That's a good idea. I'll see you later."
I was apprehensive about the negotia tion, but looking forward
to it. I didn't feel that I could sustain this intense responsibility formuch longer. The community needed to find a way to problemsolve that didn't involve me every time. Here I was, living in the
country, a constant yearning since childhood, living with otherdykes, whom I sometimes resented, and who were often angry atme, so I was not always able to enjoy it.
The rest of the day, until just before evening meal, I worked.
The usual work shift was four hours, five days a week. I'd always
felt we all need to have free time, creative time, rest time, dreaming
time, loving time.
Mirna came up to me as we were walking into evening meal.
She put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. I'mvery close with Mirna, she's warm and understanding, and had
been once the director of a wimmin's self-housing project in Manha ttan. Mirna's mother is Jewish, and so was mine, bu t tha t' s where
the similarity ends . Her father was the first African American
lawyer to be appointed to the special subcommittee in D.C. My
father was a gardener. Mirna's never lacked for material comforts.
I've never had many. I'm fat and disabled, she's athletic and curvaceous. I'm45,she's30. We've had a lotof things to deal with. She
calls me on the racism behind some of my assumptions, and I push
her to deal with classism. Despite this, we've been great support

86 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancefor one another, setting aside two hours each week for intense
personal work.
"The negotiation's tonight at 8:00 pm in the common spacework room, if that's OK with you.""OK with me? But how'd it get set up so fast? And is the topic
clear? And who's coming?" Usually it took days of back and forth tofix a time and place. And almost always that was days ahead of time.
"Sarah, chill. You have too much power. You can't keep oncomplaining about something you, yourself, created. The wholesituation needs revision. It will work out. I'll be there, and everyone will be represented."
At 8:00, everyone was present. We include a note-taker and adyke who pays attention to the tape recorder and hands arounddrinks, neither of whom expresses opinions. They also keep confidential all of what they hear.
Our method of negotiation originated at Rhythrnfest, and has
evolved from that. Each of the parties to the dispute is represented
by an advocate from the negotiating team, from outside the groupthey represent. All the permanent members of the community
rotate into duty as negotiators/advocates while they keep theirregular jobs. A quarter, 3 months, is the term.
Mirna forfeited her voice as a member of the building crew to
do "time and temperature." That meant making sure that no one
talked more than exactly the agreed-upon limit, and that no one
violated the rules of safety.
Twenty-five dykes in one room trying to negotiate differences!
But the room itself helps: a wide oval, almost a circle, with a large
table in the center that seats twelve. Behind are three raised tiers,
padded, with cushions everywhere, so that wirnmin who need tolie down to be there, do. The firs t tier has a ramp curving all aroundthe room. Wirnmin who prefer not to transfer from their wheelchairs can still be higher than floor level.
The ad voca tes meet wi th the dykes they' re representing before
the whole group gathers. They also meet for a half hour or so witheach other to check in about the issues.
The negotiators have bonds of cornmon purpose. Meeting together before the negotiation and after hearing the complaints lets
them get a sense of where to look for compromise. Sometimes two
opposing sides really have hidden agreement. Talking overissues, but
keeping emotions out of it, goes a long way towards resolution.

Winter 1992/93 87

Mirna started by reading us the rules for this negotiation.
Summarized, they propose that every dyke shall state her case, andthe advocates will do the actual negotiation. If no resolution isreached, there will be a new negotiation in three days. Mirna let out
a breath, and turned the page.
.
"Our format for safety is: We will describe behavior, not label
it. We will stay strictly to time limits. We listen, not interrupt. We
won't bring up extraneous grievances, will try to own our own
feelings, and respond to challenges or questions."
The EI dykes spoke first. They pointed out that for many of them
there is no other safe community in which to live. That we, as a community, have a commitment to making the land as accessible aspossible to all dykes, including EI dykes and other disabled dykes.
The building crew spoke next. Their point was that the operationscommittee had set goals with them for specific building projects tobe completed by certain dates. They can't keep their commitments
if they are interrupted.
The healing workers were next. Their statements had a lot more
"feelings" in them, but the gist of it was that they were dedicated tohelping all dykes move toward good health. They said there may be
a genuine need for menthol, camphor, or aromatic Chinese herbs,
or some other treatment not compatible with allergies. There had
to be some way for it to be OK for all dykes to have treatment. Thatan able-bodied dyke who was hurt has as much a right to treatment
as the disabled dykes. They said something about emergencies,
and mixed it with their right to control their own work space.
Thank goodness they only had 10 minutes altogether. Even so,when Mirna called time, River went on talking for another halfminute, and only stopped after Abbe, one of her co-workers, told
her to shut up.
Then it was my turn. I basically owned that I shouldn't haveoffered something to Melody that I personally couldn't deliver. I
said also that I felt swamped, pushed to my absolute limits to seethat everyone's needs were met.
We started the round with the negotiators in a very tense
atmosphere.
They pointed out that EI dykes can't go elsewhere for daily treatment; that the building crew have a job to do, "and it doesn't include
problem-solving for Sarah;" that healing workers need control ofworking condition; and that Sarah needs relief from the pressure.

88 sinister wisdom #48, ResistanceI also began to hear, "Sarah is not available enough." "Sarah is
too available." "When we go to Sarah to solve our problems, it gives
her too much power." "It seems like Sarah is using her position tocontrol what happens on the land." "Sometimes I feel like I'm athome with my mother when I deal with Sarah."
Some things were said that Mirna ruled out of order. Labels.
Like when Kendra, the health workers' advocate, said it was hard
to work with "whining dykes."
Mostly, I felt attacked and misunderstood.
After the break, solutions were offered, compromises. But there
was still a nagging feeling that I was under attack. Finally, there
was a direct question put to me, something that, by protocol, I
could answer.
Toni asked Carmelita to voice it. "Sarah, what exactly were yourmotives in starting this community? Some of us wonder if there isa loophole that will allow you to sell the land once it is developed.
Or was it because you could never get any work as an architect andyou wanted somewhere to work on real buildings? What kind ofprivilege did you come from in order to be able to do this?"
The room was very quiet. I flushed hot all over. So muchsuspicion. I didn't know if anyone would understand me. I stood,
and my motion broke the spell a bit. Dykes turned to focus on me.
"First of all, you know the land is in trust. I can't sell it, even if
I wanted to. All of the permanent community together must decide
to sell it, and even then it's a long process.
"I started this community because the need for it was clear tome. I realized when I was working in Berkeley as a lay social
worker that even helping people get on welfare, get food stamps,
SSI, section 8, special ed for their kids, get away from abusive
partners, join unions, form unions, create rent control, ha~e urban
gardens and farming - I realized that this is not enough. I have not
had privilege. I was raised in an abusive, incestuous household,part of the working poor. I was the only Jewish kid in my public
elementary school, darker skinned than anyone around me, with
599 white goys. I know what problems are! And I am disabled,
have been since I was a kid . I don't consider that privileged!
"I saw that we all needed new forms for our lives. The very
shape of the houses and apartments, the cramped cars and vansand buses that shelter families, the poor food, the polluted air andwater were the burrs and spurs under the skin of every strugglingWinter 1992/93 89

womon. Schools that don't teach our <;:hildren anything that is forthem, that take their natural power and punish them for it. Medicalcare that's available only to the privileged, or when available, inclinics, exhausted the health care workers.
"And events! Dyke events - that are inaccessible, or too expensive! No place for us to gather without paying money, often no
child care, or they're inaccessible to wimmin with EI, or otherdisabilities.
"What, I asked myself, does the patriarchy do to us to make us
submissive? They kill us, rape us, lock us up. I have been physicallyhurt a lot, but I didn't think I could do anything about it but stayout of their way. Now that Toni's teaching the self defense class fordisabled wimmin, I'm beginning to see it differently. But when I
started to organize this community, I thought there could be another Hitler, but aside from that, if the boys simply made it hard for
us to get bare needs met - food, clothing, shelter, health care,meaningful occupation, the right to free assembly - then they
could bribe us with these commodities to do their bidding.
"Then I realized that they were already bribing us. But there wasstill a narrow chance of slipping out of the system. If we all could
produce our own food, clothing and shelter and enjoy doing it, we could
be safe from their pressure. If we could assemble in manageablegroups, diverse clusters of 20 to 500 wimmin, we could have variety
and closeness, entertainment, art, perhaps even happiness and wellbeing. I was in an accident, and used the settlement to start thiscommunity. For the first few years, there were only a few of us here."
I ran out of steam, just at the same time as Mirna flashed me thetwo minutes are up sign.
It was very quiet. I couldn't help looking at Toni. She lookedright back at me, said in a relieved and yet cornical voice, "Oh, I
thought that was it," and smiled.
The laughter and hoots and smattering of applause and handwaving that followed broke the tension, and helped us get on to theconclusion. It's like any of the practical magic. You know, when
you make photocopies of all your important papers, and extra
copies of your keys and then go traveling, nothing is wrong. But
watch out if you don't!
The humor drew us all together, but the hard work that had gone
before was the substance around which we coalesced. I felt that
because I had taken such a personal risk, other dykes were more
willing to.

90 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

We settled down to resolve our differences with a kind of
excitement and hope that I hadn't felt for a long time.
The building crew made the first concession, took the first risk.
Carmelita said, "The building crew is willing to split into two
teams if they can get some more members, one team can complete
ongoing projects, while the other does maintenance and handles
emergencies.".
Kendra said, for the healing workers, ''We'll do healing workfor EI wimmin in a separate space even though it's inconvenient."
Joan replied, "The EI wimmin will agree to get treatment in
temporary shelter if a new EI healing area can be built, and theywant to have input into the design."
Cath reported, "Sarah will be quite willing to have some otherway of dealing with crises, perhaps a team could problem-solve."
Toni said, "I'd like to meet with both the EI wimmin and thehealing workers during the design and construction process."
We decided to change several policies. First of all, we wanted toeven out the power and the responsibility. So we created a job called"fixing it." Like the building crew, the five wimminserving as negotiator/advocates would have no other job during their term. Problems would be brought to them, not to me or any other individual.
Because the negotiating committee would rotate every three months,
the group itself would not become a power-over group. The risk wasthat this would not be seen as a real job, and that the crews they left
would miss them. Our law will still be set by policy, policy by negotiation, negotiation by the population. The group cannot write or
create policy. They can only mediate with interested parties when
an issue arises. Our rotation system will stay intact.
I know I'll have a hard time really letting go of the power. But
1'm looking forward to doing other work. I also know that this has
to be, for a community to be.
The second agreement is that a temporary shelter will go up for
the EI wimmin's health needs. This will stay up as a new annex tothe healing house is built. It will be for EI, asthmatic and allergic
dykes only, and have a small "hang out" room. We build withrammed earth here, and the cost is not great. Melody, Honey andJane all are feeling well enough - and Abbe and River, from thehealing workers, will give up some of their free time - to meet
regularly with the building crew and the designer. It is a risk for thethree EI dykes to expose themselves so much, and to represent theWinter'992/93 91

more restricted dykes, but they are enthusiastic and committed. It
feels good to know that the users of the space will plan the space.
It's not nearly so chancy!
The third decision is that the building crew will split into twogroups and take on five trainees. One crew, the three experienced
members and two trainees, will work on ongoing structures. The
other group, with two experienced dykes and three trainees, will
be on call. They'll be responsible for putting up temporary buildings, and for maintenance. Both are excellent schooling for builders and designers. The groups will switch every quarter.
There are, however, not 5 dykes on land now who have expressed an interest in belonging to the building crew. Carmelita
suggested that we advertise a training program for dykes in theurban alternative papers. We will offerroomand board and wages.
That keeps it accessible to poor and working-class wimmin. We
will make it clear that no men are ever allowed on land, and wefigure that the non-dykes will drop out of the application process.
I'm tired . And I don't have a warm body to cuddle next to.
That's not something that can be solved by policy. But I feel pretty
good, peaceful. And that's really what I've been working towards.

Jasmine Marah92 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Irena Klepfisz

The Politics of Snails: A Parable
be landlord's instructions: Crush them with your heels or between
two rocks. If that's not appealing, use the powder - it doesn't kilf
- just keeps them away (this has to be a lie - anyone indifferent
to mashing them beneath their shoes is not about to go humane).
I'm half asleep when I hear these options . Barely take them in though clearly they register because my first morning alone I willrecall the calm voice.
But now it's dusk. The back garden: red and pink roses firmly
rooted and pink and red geraniums in steel boxes hanging against
the prefab fence. Everything vies for turf. What's new? Under mynegligence by summer ' s end red geraniums will flourish in the
ground, challenging the supremacy of the rose. Unfamiliar blue
flowers will threaten the geraniums. Agarden in which I can do theimpossible: sleep and dream in peace while around me: war.
A pretty house .. . with mixed messages. The surrounding
condominiums: mortar and cement. Each garden the same: lessfoliage, more hexagonal bricks supporting the iron-wrought furniture and methodically boxed soil. "You'll need to weed it/' I'm told
during training. Translation: maintain control- which, after all, is
all this life is ever about.
The first morning alone: I slide open the door and step out.
Dampness. Fog, dew. I spot my first one on the stem of a rose. It
looks snug between two thorns. I'm taken aback It's enormous. An
inch-high shell. Nothing fancy. But the bod y! Sleek gray flesh spills
out and around the plain brow n wrapper. Entirely exposed - theback tapers into a delicate tail. And the front? I catch my breath! The
sumptuous bosom arches high into the finely shaped head. Ah!
The wonder of the horns! And are those eyes that plot its course,that reflect its soul?
Previousl y published in Th e American Vo ice, Kentucky, Dec. 1991.

Winter 1992/93 93

I look around. See others - on the fence, on a red brick, on a dark
wet leaf. They're different sizes - some the shells mere specks, thebodies barely visible; others slim and solid like the first.
Surely no one can expect me to murder these?
There's only one choice: I harvest them. They hardly struggle- at least not from my perspective. But then it's not exactly an evenmatch. To my fingertips their resistance registers only as a hesitation, a moment's confusion, before they curl inward and vanish. I
search under leaves, on the damp soil, the fence. It's a challenge.
They're masters in the art of passing - as pebbles, wooden chips,
broken dried stems. But I catch on and in minutes - more than twodozen are in the bag. Occasionally I peek and see them fully present
climbing up the sides - horns and eyes exposed. They use each otheras step ladders, as free rides - whatever. They're determined to getto the top - and out.
And then it's over. The flowers saved, the snails safe - andthere I am holding the bag asking the ultimate question which
unreflective altruism never answers: speaking practically, what
am I to do with them next? A friend who's lived here for years is
sympathetic, though she has a native's perspective. "If the garden
meant food, you might feel different," she tells me serenely. Stillshe's kind. I'm new. So she drives me to a special spot to view theocean. It's a perfect refuge for the snails.
Two days later: The same question. I can't hustle them off tosafety every morning. I don't have a car. Besides, I have a job. I haveto report for work. Besides again - how did all this come to be? I
ask another friend, a historian who contextualizes the current
crisis: a nineteenth-century Frenchman wanting to make native adelicacy of escargot, a desire he fulfillect but in the process, life
triumphed over appetite and death and now we're stuck with thepresent situation and impossible solutions - grind them downwith your heel or crush them with stones.
A week later: I'm still harvesting, amazed at their numbers. My. urge to rescue is transformed into repressed rage. How and when
did they become my responsibility? Why, I ask myself, must I findan escape for them?
There's no one to turn to. I'mangry-at them, at myself for myfailing commitment, for losing face. I comfort myself: You can do94 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceonly what you can do. But I know - in the meantime, the world- or more precisely - the garden - withers.
So, determined not to be defeated, I collect weary paper bags
and fill them with endangered snails. Determined I appraise theterrain, establish escape routes, safety zones. On my way to work
I release them at bus stops, on unkempt weedy highway shoulders
and hope they'll sense the right direction - away from death. B~tlife's crowded and I'm conscious I've never brought them to theocean again. In my mortar garden I sleep and dream of that first
day's liberation - the openness of sky, the ocean somber in the
sunlight, salt in my mouth, the snails among the tall grasses. I wake
and wonder who it is I'm trying to save.

© 1991 Irena KJepfisz

untitled
Billie MiracleWinter 1992/93 95

Dawn Rudd

The EnemyBra
GirdleDress shields
Panties
Stockings
Hold my mother hostage
before her clothes becomeher captor to the world
Bent all the way over
Foot in right hole
Foot in left hole
Now pullFingers tense and resentful
Full body unwilling to yield
to this foreign force
Force
that spandex, lycra
poly knitted cotton content
piece of rubberized slavery
up those calves
Past the knee
soft like doughUp, upward to the thighs
Screaming and pleading
Bleedingfrom this external enemy
waiting to become one
with the internal enemy
Hate
She rests a moment
Long enough forperspiration to form

96 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancecausing dreaded sweat stains
God bless dress shields
looped and fastened tightly
around her arms and shoulders
There is safety now
There is safety now
It is 1969
The country is on fire
My mother is on fireFighting for equality
Fighting for justiceFighting for freedom
Fighting to fit into clothing
designed for a thin, flat
white woman
Fighting large breasts
that spill out of hereighteen hour bra
Protruding buttocks
defiantly protest
Thighs demand their right to be
Walter Cronkite delivers the numbers
How many killed
How many wounded
My mother marches
Clenched fist held high
Buttocks held highBreasts held highTummy tucked andThighs constrainedFighting for freedom
Fighting for freedom

A line was inadvertently left out of our first printing of this poem in #47.
We're reprinting it here in its entirety. Our apologies to Dawn Rudd andour readers.

Winter 1992/93 97

Toni L. Cassista

A Question of "Civil Rights""Discrimination against individuals termed overweight simply on the basis of their weight, cannot be rationally supported.
Even if we were to accept the notion that potential ill health is asufficient reason to discriminate against people, in all fairness,
we ought to use potential for ill health as the criterion for judging
them - not fatness per se. This would mean screening all people
for a variety of risk factors and basing our judgments on thosethat are the most important: smoking (first and foremost), alcohol
consumption, high blood pressure, diabetes, a family history ofheart disease and certain cancers, possession of firearms, use ofseat belts, and, perhaps, weight. To single out weight is really justto choose a visible characteristic - and one that is relatively minor
among the predictors of ill health ... "- William I. Bennett M.D.
Associate Editor
The Harvard Medical School Health Letter

On September 29, 1987, Community Foods of Santa Cruz, California, made a decision not to hire me, based on my body size.
Without any knowledge of my physical abilities, and without any
verification of medical evidence, I was told they "did not think I
could physically do the work due to my weight." After I caught mybreath, I sent Community Foods a letter suggesting that they dosome education in the area of fatphobia as an effort towards preventing anyone else from being discriminated against because of
their size. Upon receiving my letter, Will Hildeburn, Personnel
Director, called and asked if I would meet with members of theCommunity Foods Collective, so they could explain the reasons
why IWas denied employment. At this meeting they added insult
to injury by questioning whether or not I could work a forty-hour
week, stand on my feet for eight hours a day, or fit down the store
aisles. I felt like someone had hit me with a two-by-four. I was in98 sinister wisdom #48, Resistanceshock. I felt sick to my stomach, and was shaken for months tocome.
A judgment had been made based solely on a "visible characteristic" - my body size. Community Foods exercised their authority, their power, and became the "humble oppressor" - I wastold that they thought I would "appreciate the honesty." But thiswas not a question of honesty. Rather, it was one of fair employ~ment practices.
Fatphobia is so ingrained in our society that most fat people
stay at home, isolated and lonely. A fat person's self-esteem is
attacked externally with "if only you would lose weight," theninternally with "If only I would lose weight." If fat people ventureout and are blatantly denied employment because of their size,
they go home feeling guilty and blaming themselves. No report isfiled, no complaint is lodged, the employers go about their business as if nothing has happened, but the fat person is emotionallydevastated and temporarily ravaged. Fat people's physical andmental health is at risk, because the thought of going out and thefear of what they might be subjected to becomes frightening. Lifeis a constant threat of physical and verbal assaults that never seemto end, and the only escape is the safety of one's home.
I could not bear the thought of one more fat person having toexperience what I had to endure. I was verbally attacked by those
who praised Community Foods for their political, nutritional, andprogressive consciousness. I was asked, "How could you do sucha thing to a group of people who have given so much to the Santa
Cruz community?" I refused to remain silent, no matter what thecost. Silence not only condones accepted behavior, it encourages
and perpetuates it. If friends and family participa te in or contributeto racism, sexism or homophobia, I feel responsible to confront andchallenge them to change their attitudes. People must take responsibility for their actions that contribute to fatphobia.
In 1988, I sent a packet of information to the Santa Cruz County
Board of Supervisors requesting that they pass an ordinance thatwould prohibit discrimination based on weight. I was informedthat the Board had turned my request over to Personnel Director
Robert R. Palmer for analysis. His response was:Winter 1992/93 99" ... The County guidelines state obesity is associated withincreased morbidity and mortality - of particular importance are
the strength and stamina abilities, working conditions involving
extremes of temperature and the ability to function in confined
spaces ... "Mr. Palmer's response is a perfect example of how our societysystematically oppresses fat people. We permit and accept theabove language without a question of a person's civil rights. The
fat person is so used to hearing negative judgments that they
believe it themselves.
On September 13, 1988, my attorney, James Moore King, filed
a civil suit citing employment discrimination as nature of case with
Superior Court of California, County of Santa Cruz. Mycase finally
saw the shadow of the judge's bench on A pril9, 1991. Jury selection
was extremely difficult, because fat prejudice is so accepted. The
judge, at one point, asked my attorney to use the word " overweight" instead of "fat" when directing questions to the jury. The
word overweight implies that there is something wrong with mybody. I do not use this word, and refuse to allow others to use it
when describing me, including the judicial system. The case took
three days. The jury deliberated for a little over two hours comingback with a verdict in favor of the defense. I left the court room thatday somewhat numb from my experience, although much w iserbecause of it!
I could not accept this verdict. There was no justice in the trial
court's decision, and no message to employers about their responsibility when hiring. I found a law firm in San Francisco, Robins,
Kaplan, Miller & Ciresi (RKMC) who offered to provide me withlegal services on a pro bono basis, which means that I will not becharged for time spent or expenses incurred by RKMC attorneys orother personnel working on my behalf. This is an enormous relief
because of my limited finances. The attorney from RKMC representing me is Stefanie M. Brown. She filed my appeal on June 15,
1991. For the first time in four years, I have hope. Stefanie is very
supportive and encouraging, without making any promises. She
has a wonderful sense of humor, and a great laugh. It is refreshingto get the affirmation I so need regarding the legitimacy of my case.

100 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

The Sixth Appellate District ruled on July 8,1992, that "the trial
court erred in instructing the jury that Cassista was required toprove that 'but for' her weight, she would have been hired. Because the error was prejudicial, the judgment is reversed and a newtrial is granted."
The decision reached by the Sixth Appellate District in Cassista
vs. Community Foods is of monumental importance. The appellate ruling will set precedent and change the way discrimination
suits are handled by the courts in the State of California, as well as
being referred to and cited by attorneys throughout the country. In
really simp lis tic terms, w ha t this means is that in a case where there
exists a legitimate and an illegitimate motive (mixed motive) the''burden of proof" would shift to the employer to show that it would
have made the same decision in the absence of the illegitimate motive.
In my case, the illegitimate motive was that they perceived that I was
handicapped. Now the burden of proof shifts to Community Foods toshow that the legitimate motive (which they claim was my lack ofexperience) was in fact the only reason I was .not hired. I won myappeal because of the brilliance, caring and commitment of my attorney. Finally, as of this moment, Community Foods has filed a petition
for review before the Supreme Court of California. So now we wait!
I realized from the start that my fight for fat rights would be along drawn-out battle. I am a little weathered, but still standing.
Although there are times when the pain I feel gushes to the surface
unexpectedly and I find myself crying in the check-out line at themarket, or riding the bus to school. I have even thought of dying
at times, because I could not bear to hear another person place
judgments on my capabilities, my worth, or my intelligence. As a fat
womyn, I am surrounded by prejudice in every facet of my life.
Finding my voice in a society that would sooner see me disappear isdifficult when I am at my best, and excruciating in the midst of thebattle. How easy it is to forget the importance of having a supportive
safe environment-a place to express whatIfeel,sharing similarities,
respecting differences of opinion, and remembering that my survival as a fat womyn depends on a collective unity.
Now, for the very first time, in a very long time, I feel myself
breathing freely. I feel the warm caresses of tears as they trickle

Winter 1992/93 101

down my cheek. I feel joy, sadness, affirmation and validation. I
feel a renewed source of energy, of strength, of truth. I stood up for
my beliefs - that every person, no matter what her size, should be
evaluated in the same way when seeking employment. If there isa question of physical strength, then every applicant should begiven the very same test. An applicant should not be eliminatedfrom the hiring process because of her size; employers should notjudge a prospective employee based on a "visible characteristic."
I will no longer accept what everyone else will tolerate. I have
paid a costly price because I chose not to be silent, not to allow an
employer to deny me my constitutional right. They tried to tell me
I was weak, that I was not capable of doing any physical labor. They
tried to steal my pride, my worth, my life. I am forty-three years old
and insisting to be heard! I am angry! I am demanding fair employment practices! I am strongly urging all people to strive for healthand fitness, not dieting! I am very proud, and very strong, and will
not tolerate or accept any more abuse! I am fighting for me, for you,for all of us!

Diane F. Germain

102 sinister wisdom #48, Resista nce

Susan Stinson

SabotageThis is an excerpt from an unpublished novel, Fat Girl Dances with Rocks. The
narrator, Char, and Felice areseventeen-year-old lovers. Mickey is Felice's aunt.

The day was almost gone by the time we got back to Mickey's little
white house from the camping trip. Mickey was watching a baseball game on TV when we got there.
Felice brought in an armload of blankets and sleeping bags.
"Mickey," she said, "we were bombed."
I was surprised that we were going to tell Mickey about that,
but as long as we were, I wanted to get the facts straight. "Theground shook. The army had a roadblock. Maybe it was a bomb."
Mickey glanced back at the TV screen as somebody got a hit.
"Oh, where did you go? Mt. Estrella?"
She knew all about it. The army did tests out there. They were
supposed to be secret, but Mickey had talked to a guy she'd met inline at the bank. He was stationed at Fort Estrella, and had money toburn. According to him, they were setting off bombs underground.
I saw the muscles in Felice's face tighten when Mickey said
that. I think it was the idea of hidden minerals being blasted into
powder that upset her most. She dumped the blankets onto a chair,then stomped into the kitchen. She rattled some dishes in there,
then stomped out again and started picking up the blankets andfolding them into perfect squares.
Mickey patted the cushion of the couch, inviting me to sit down
beside her. I noticed that her red nail polish looked a little chewed.
We decided later that Mickey was lonely, because once she started
talking, it was as if she couldn' t stop.
I sat there trying to return to reality, watching Felice subd ue theblankets, while Mickey turned down the sound on the game andtold us how Felice's mother - Mickey called her Ida -used to takethem ice skating when Felice was four and Mickey was almost
fourteen. She said, "Most of the mothers who came to the rinkdidn't skate. They sat in the warming house drinking awful coffee
from styrofoam cups. But Ida got herself out on the ice."Winter 1992/93

103"It was something to see," Mickey said to Felice. "Ida would
take your hand and skate out to dead center where the figureskaters worked on their jumps. She would arrange her scarf into a
circle on the ice, then lift you into the middle of it and let you dance.
You were cute, all eyes and red wool, sliding on your double
runners and laughing. Ida would skate around the small circle ofher scarf, waving her hands and wiggling with you, and even the
fancy skaters would stop glaring for the pure joy you had in eachother. The two of you had eyes for nobody else, so I got to do
whatever I wanted most of the time."
Mickey looked at Felice, who was shaking out the sleeping
bag. Her arms were making swift, sharp motions in the air and herface was shining in the light from the TV.
"You remind me of your mother," Mickey said.
Felice raised one eyebrow and scowled. She thrummed her
fingers against the wood of the coffee table. Her nails made a loudclicking sound.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she told Mickey.
Felice went back to folding blankets and Mickey kept talking.
I couldn't concentrate on her story because every move Felice
made seemed to gather all of the light in the room to her, andwatching the lines of her arms made me shiver, while Mickey told
about being good at the gra pevine, her legs going in and out, in andout, leaving a pattern on the ice like hourglasses stacked one on topof the other. I could feel Felice's warm weight on me again.
Mickey's girlfriends used to hold onto the board at the edge of therink, squealing. I watched Felice put a stack of blankets on the
shelf, her hands disappearing in the folds of wool and nylon.
Mickey remembered the boys in their smooth black skates, taking
the corners hockey style. They would brush past too close, and shewould wobble. I tried to imagine what it meant that Felice and hermother had looked at each other with joy in their eyes.
Mickey touched my elbow for attention. "One time I even sat withthe guy who ran the popcorn machine in this silver Plymouth in theparking lot. Ida came looking forme on her bare blades on the asphalt,
and when she found him with his hand in my shirt, she hauled off andstarted kicking his tires as hard as she could with her skate."
Felice, her arms still in the linen closet, rolled her eyes, but it
wasn't funny. "I took off running and hitchhiked home. I felt bad

104 sinister wisdom #48, Resista neelater than I hadn't taken you with me, Felice, because when Ida gotthat mad, she spread it around."Felice said, "I don't remember a thing about any of that."
Mickey took a long drag on her cigarette. "Ida didn't speak to me
for months." Mickey sighed and got up to shut off the Tv. "That was ahundred years ago," she said as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
Felice took my hand and pulled me up off the couch. ''We
should do something," she said.
I felt dread - please, god, not a disco. "I don't have any money
left," I told her.
She slid open the door to the patio. "Let's go outside."
I followed her out. We sat on the grass. It was already night. The
big moon gave me shadows to watch. Felice was restless. My eyecaught on the line of her shin, sharp and shining in the dark. I
touched her hand, and she let me, but when I bent to kiss her, shesaid, "Not here," and jerked her head back towards the house.
Felice leaned and whispered to me again about Mickey's wetrimmed glass that she pressed to bedroom walls. I didn't think
Mickey was that interested in us, but Felice was not persuaded. She
rubbed her heels back and forth in the grass until she had cleared
two small round pits down to dirt. I rolled onto my back and gazedat the moon. It was waning, but I still felt intensity in the light.
Felice started bombarding me with bits of grass. I sat up.
"Stop," I said, "I'm allergic."
Felice threw a whole handful of grass into the air. It looked tome as if she were aiming at the moon. Most of it fell back in her face .
She shook it off.
''We should do something," she said again.
I blew a piece of grass off her cheek. "Like what?""Sabotage," she said. "Defuse the bombs."
I flopped back dow n on the ground again. "We're not going todo that."
She had her arms crossed tightly on her chest. I could see that
she was serious. ''Why not?"I had plenty of reasons. "Because they ha ve guns. Besides, it's
too far a wa y, and we would have no idea w ha t to do. And I'd be tooscared."I looked at Felice's moonshadow nodding her head. "All right,"
she said, "something close." I snorted. She put her warm hand on myWinter 1992/93

105

head. Her shadow arm looked like a stem that connected her to me.
So we decided to target a neighborhood cop. Felice didn't haveanything against this particular guy, except that he looked at her
hard when she ran on the highway, but he was as close as I was
willing to go to the armed forces. As it was, I was miserable while wetalked about it. I was even more miserable once we were walking to
the street where Felice knew he lived, with a pa per bag full of powdery
white ornamental gravel that we had scooped from around the bushesof one of Mickey' s neighbors. It wasn't much past ten 0' clock, but there
was no one out on the streets. We walked past a yard where thesprinkler was going, and I nudged Felice.
"Remember sneaking into Mrs. Peterson's garden to eat themorning glories?"
Felice nodded, intent on the job at hand. "We were young," shesaid.
We left the sound of the sprinkler behind, and turned a corner
into a silent street. I could see the outline of the squad car in the
moonlight. Jeff had a Matchbox car just like it when he was a kid,
down to the little red light on the top. Even as an envious kid sister,
1'd never wanted one. We stood on the corner and peered at thehouse where the squad car was parked. My hands were shaking.
"I can't believe I'm about to become a vandal," I whispered.
"One light on," said Felice. "Probably the bedroom. Let's go."She started walking calmly down the sidewalk towards the car,swinging the bag of gravel a little as she moved. I tried to match herpace, increasingly overwhelmed with the worry that neighbors glancing out of their windows would be able to identify me later by my fat
silhouette. And 1'd never be able to run as fas t as Felice to get away. She
didn't really need my help, so what was I doing here? We stopped
beside the hedge that bordered the cop's yard. Felice and I squatted
down, shielded from the window, and opened the bag. She shifted thegravel into one corner to use as a spout. The crackle of the brown paper
sounded like gunshot to me. She gave my hand a squeeze. "Keepwatch," she whispered. She crossed the driveway in the beam fromthe window, then knelt in the shadow of the car. I saw her open the gas
tank and raise the bag to pour the gravel into the tank. It made astrange, soft sound, like rice being poured into a pot to boil.
I was getting fuller and fuller where I crouched, too, fighting
queasiness and excitement until I had to stand up to give the106 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancefeelings more room. Maybe I rustled the bushes, because a dog inthe cop's house started barking. Felice pulled the bag to her chest,
and froze there kneeling next to the rear tire. A hall light went on,then the front door swung open. I could hear the thud as a big,
black labrador threw himself at the screen door. A woman in avelvety red bathrobe stood behind the screen, looking out acrossthe yard. The dog bared his teeth, barking loud enough to wake theneighbors. The woman put her hand on his head, talking softly. Sh~
gave the yard one last look, then she shut the door. I thought thatmy mother would probably like her. I hadn't dared to look at Felice
while the door was open, but she was stock still in the samekneeling position. She didn't move until the light went out in thehall. Then she reached for the handle of the passenger door which
opened miraculously, just like the ones on Jeff's Matchbox car,
except this one gave a loud creak. I was horrified - what was she
doing now? She ducked her head into the car for a moment, thenscrambled back to the hedge, keeping well below the line of sightfrom the window. She stood beside me, breathing hard, but when
we looked at each other, I knew we had to get moving, because I
could barely control my sudden desire to laugh.
We didn't run until we were out of sight of the house. I caught
up with Felice when she stopped to dump the rest of the whitegravel back at the bush where we'd gotten it. She waited until wewere safely in her bedroom before she reached into the pocket ofher shorts and showed me the pair of mirrored sunglasses that
she'd stolen off the dash.
She put them on, and gave me her best Clint Eastwood profile.
"The revenge of the earth," she muttered.
I laughed until she hissed, "Shhhhsh. Mickey." It took me along time to come down from the tension, but Felice was r~ady tocrash. So I lay in her bed with my heart pounding, holding the edgeof her pillowcase, feeling both. freed and caught. She had beenbreathing even and slow for a long time when she reached backand pulled my arm around her, so that when I finally slept, I was
holding her close.

Winter 1992/93

107

Denise Nico Leto

And Everything We Do?
My presence in the world is my first resistance. It is when I wakeup and start each day - no matter what.
Resistance is remembering. Remembering my ancestors, myhers tory, all the dreams and nightmares of a lifetime and a thousand
lifetimes before me. The way the world picks at this mosaic anddismantles it piece by piece until nothing is left and suddenly I am
alone with no background, no context, just an assimilated tastelessbroth of sadness and sameness. Resistance is claiming my ethnicity,
my Sicilian and Italian/ American self. Resistance is putting the mosaic back together again so what was once broken can become whole.
Resistance is repair work. It takes glue and guts and an eye for detail.
Resistance is paying attention. When I am tired of it all- I
want things to blur. Then I can kaleidoscope each event and if I turnit and twist it and squint enough I can find a place to breathe inbetween the lines of the terrible design. But it is a lie. The more I
squint, the more I need to distort - the less I really know, the lessI can name, the less I can resist. Resistance is paying attention towhat it is that is actually happening. Right here. Right now. If I
know the thing itself that is threatening then I can meet it fully and,from this place of strength, decide what to do next. Resistance ishaving information and access and when none exists, cut in line
and make a lot of noise.
Resistance is action and movement. I have marched, rallied,
lobbied, petitioned, fought, argued, organized, defended, studied,researched, defied, taught, witnessed, debated, created, and agonized. I have written, I have spoken, I have performed, I haveyelled and I have raged. I have filed suit and defied suit. I have been
rejected, fired, spit on, discriminated against, denied, and tried. I
have loudly broken bad laws and quietly worked my way aroundothers . .r have been called names: whore, scum, unwomanly, manhater,lefty bitch,liar, ugly, disgracefullezzie. I have been told I wasa shame, a loss, a loser. I have been told that I was abnormal,
emotional, victimized, far-out. Each time I have reached down to108 sinister wisdom # 48, Res istancea place so deep and beautiful and prior to all this, that I can't stopknowing and therefore I can't stop acting on what I know.
Resistance is also rest and quiet. Resistance is when, in spite ofitall,lamable to sleep. It is whenl can sit quietly and writeorsitquietly
and watch the tomatoes in my garden grow. It is when I lie in thehammock and appreciate the way the leaves don't care where theyfall. It is when my cat lieson my belly purring. It is when I practice T' ai
Chi. It is when I am content for no apparent reason and laugh as if t9save my life. It is when I love who I love no matter what.
Resistance is touching my lover. It is holding her hand in
public. It is loving her with my eyes and the love rushes out and I
can't stop it even though there is danger nearby - someone hateful or someone who can hurt us, throw rocks at us, fire us, turn us
in or inside out or somehow try to silence or change us. And thelove comes out of my eyes and we walk down the street fierce in
our love, knowing what we know. And resistance is when we arehome and are still able to love each other in body and soul. That wecan peel our clothes off and caress and hold and suck and kiss andmake love and come loudly and long and wet in the middle of theafternoon, the night, the war - is a miracle we have worked hardto create. This love of ours is a sublime act of resistance.
Resistance is honoring the lives and work of women. The workof our foremothers, of lesbians, of women of color, of disabled
women, ethnic women, Jewish women, working class and poor
women, older women - ALL of us. My first allegiance is to these
lives and to this work. In the place where these lives and this work
flourish, I was born, and it is here I will die.
Resistance is noticing how women are dying. Women murdered, dying of cancer, AIDS and other diseases, committing suicide. It is one thing to die, and yet another to die from having lived
in this cycle of enmity, despair and destruction. Resistance is knowing that when disease strikes our bodies or someone shoots orbeats us, it is not somehow our own karmic complicity that brought
this on. It is the indiscriminate hand of disease and the discriminate
hand of male violence that is deadly, not our thoughts or our past
mistakes. It is the way we die that is the tragedy. Period.
Once a woman I loved killed herself. Since then, I notice death
acutely. How it passes through my heart, how my body rages

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109

against these kinds of deaths, how my mind seeks to somehow
embrace the impossible fact that some of us are falling like flies.
Since that irrevocable moment of her suicide, I notice the subtle
deaths, the silences, the self-censorship, the oblique erasure, thesuicide of dreams, of moments, oflove. How we take ourselves andstrip our spirits and internalize blame and hate and squeeze ourbones into dust trying to fit into the role they would have us fit. I
notice how we take the worst of these voices inside and compare
ourselves to a decadent set of rules: "I am too short, fat, poor,
uneducated, old, tall, unusual, ugly./I Every time I hear myself
doing this it is like a blunt weapon striking the soft flesh of a ripe
fruit. And I stop. Resistance is noticing the way women are dying
and resistance is noticing the way women are living.
Resis tance is w hen I si t wi th a grou p of women and we talk andlearn about and practice our strength. Once a friend called me "apacifist w hoteaches women how to break faces./I Because I believe
in nonviolence and because I have taught women self-defense foryears some say this is a contradiction. What I know is that my firstallegiance is to women - to our lives and to our safety. So I can
express my loathing of the colossal, global infrastructure of thecondition of violence under which we live (the maldistribution of
goods and resources, poverty, hunger, racism, sexism, classism,
misogyny, ethnic prejudice, the hatred of lesbians and gays, etc.)
and acts of violence (rape, beatings, hate crimes, etc.) and thendiscuss, in the same breath, the intricacies, mechanisms and efficacy of an eye gouge technique for self-defense. It seems clear to me
that violence against women is an institutionalized, endemic, socially, politically, economically, legally condoned force that needs
a well-organized, enraged, effective, empowered response.
Resistance is having choices; self-defense is about choosing tofight back in whatever way we can. I loathe guns and do not own
one. Some say this is another contradiction. I don't know. Many
women do own guns. Know how to use them, is all I say anymore.
Being a "pacifist" is not the same as being a victim, and being a gunowner is not the same as being "Rambo./I Violence against womencalls for.a wide range of responses and strategies. Here are some ofmine: study and teach self-defense; speak out; expose it; fight it. I am
well-trained and will physically, psychologically, and spiritually110 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancedefend myself when under attack. I will do anything I can to keep
myself and other women safe - and the world would not recognize this "pacifist" who will shatter the hand (and the systembehind it) that tries to wound her.
What is resistance? It is everything we've done to be here
today. It is waking alive into each day, aware of how we've gotten
this far. Tomorrow I will think of a million more ways to resist.
Sometimes it's overwhelming and I understand nothing, forget
everything and have no idea who I am or what to do. The murderof 14 women in Canada, the war in the Middle East, the atrocities
Anita Hill was subjected to in the Clarence Thomas hearings, theWilliam Kennedy Smith trial, the beating of Rodney King, the verdictof not-guilty, the hourly, daily, weekly abuses, tragedies, injustices,
and assaults on our being. The track record, historical and current, ofheinous, genocidal moments in this country and the world seems
endless. The list goes on. Resistance is when we know what is on thelist. When we are convinced something else is possible.
Resistance is passion. Passion about and for ourselves, eachother, this beleaguered planet. Passion that creates - resources,
mailing lists, dinner, art, love, support, children, community, jobs,
beauty, options. Passion that is in constant motion so that evenwhen standing still someone somewhere is rocking the boat.
Resistance is making sure, on a daily basis, that I am patriarchy's
wors t nightmare. A needle in its hays tack, a burr in its sock, a storm
in the middle of its eye, a raucous, seditious, billowing uprisingagainst its malevolence. It is to make sure that I confound andchallenge the ideas and laws and structures that exist to constrict
life, to narrow women's voices, to bleach and destroy women ofcolor, to lay waste to nature.
Resistance is when we bond with, create, and recreate one
another and the world . Resistance is joy. It is when I feel the sun on
my face, it is when I dance just because it feels good. Resistance iswhen we listen to each other. When we tell stories, light candles,
dream, experiment, protest, wonder, work, charge forward. It is when
we rise and point and crack open. It is when we tell the truth at the
moment it matters the most and at the moment it matters the least.
Like a bell marking time, we strike whether or not anyone notices
and hope to another woman somewhere, it rings true.

Winter 1992/93

111

Tracy Becker

Speak

I glady will feed you.
I'll offer you the roof over my head.
But I will not remain silent for you .
I don't expect you to risk losing your job.
I do not insist you do community work,
volunteer at the help-line
or put a pink triangle on your car.
I do not ask for your political endorsement
or require you move onto our -land.
It's simple:
All I want is for you to speak.
I don't want to hear "live and let live,"
because what you mean is "leave me out of it."
I invite you to acknowledge the traitor within,
yet do everything to win her trust.
I do not demand you publicly undress her.
I simply ask that you stand and say,"Yes, I am a Lesbian,and I am glad."112 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Monifa Ajanaku.Lesbians Who Have NeverVoluntarily Had Sex With Men
Since coming out fourteen years ago, I have often been perplexed
as to why some Dy kes successfully res is ted heterosexual program.,
ming and conditioning and others didn't. I created a questionnaire
to try to ascertain what some of those distinguishers may be. The
respondents to this questionnaire are much more than virgin Dykes:
they are resisters of one of the most entrenched, oppressive, misogynistic, power-over dynamics and schemes known towomonkind in the last 5,000 years - patriarchal heterosexuality!For
as long as I can remember, my basic orientation has been toward
females and, for the last two decades, zealously pro-feminist. I
always preferred being around females, therefore I have wondered why I didn't resist hetero-patriarchal indoctrination. I wasnever that male-identified, though I complied with the societal
mandate of mating. Every boyfriend I had accused me of being a
Lesbian before I was one, usually because I always prioritized mywimin friends over them. So, why didn't I escape this conditioning? Although I engaged in numerous sexual explorations before
and during my pre-adolescent development, my overall attitudes
towards sexuality remained traditional.
I also had a few same-gender flings with my girlfriends before
coming out as a Lesbian. My behavior was too complex for me to understand why I never fully resisted. Is the Western American heterosexual paradigm impossible for some of us to resist? I don' tknowwhy
I didn't, given my strong identification, ties and loyalty to wimin.
As a political activist for well over twenty years, Ihavestruggledwith and fought many things that were subtly and blatantly oppressive, but I didn't successfully resist heteropatriarchal conformity. I maintain that heterosexuality is not compulsory - at least
for some Dykes it wasn't, but what factors made and make itcompulsory for some others? How did this sexual subversivenesstoward men occur? Did these wimin have a unique, intrinsic knowledge and/ or ability?

Winter 1992/93

113

All of the Lesbians that participated in this study are resisters
to compulsory heterosexuality. Some of the Dykes responded thateven before they knew they were Lesbians, they had no sexualinterest in males and consequently resisted having sex with them.
This, to them as well as myself, is the fundamental premise of beinga Lesbian. Lesbians don't have sex with men!
The American society has conflicting standards and ideas about
sexuality. It is puritanical in many respects and yet it utilizes sex topromote and sell almost anything and everything. American
culture's patriarchal sexual programming is also paradoxical andharmful. Growing up, young girls receive many mixed and contradictory messages about sex. Some of us internalize these harmful
messages, and repress our authentic sexual feelings and embrace
pseudo-sexual relations with men. Others didn't affirm this model.
Some view this form of resistance, defying heteropatriarchal sexual
conditioning, as akin to being self-actualized warriors.
I am not implying that they, as opposed to Dykes that didn't resist,
are utopian in any way, but this is an internal and powerful form of
resistance. Sex role stereotyping is one of patriarchy's major tools forcausing wimin to fail to be true to our deepest and most spiritual,loving, sexual feelings towards ourselves and other wimin.
I feel the environment which I grew up in reinforced the message that men are wimin's saviours and if you encounter any
mistreatment from men, it is an isolated case, and the womon isviewed as the instigator. I endured much mistreatment which madethe personal, social and sexual transition to becoming fully womonidentified, and discovering my Lesbianism, less difficult.
I am not suggesting that there are significant numbers of Lesbians
who became Lesbians because of abuse from men (though I know
there are some for whom this maltreatment, endured directly or
witnessed, was a catalyst towards the discovery of Lesbianism) ,Lesbophobia, another powerful tool in patriarchy's arsenal, causes
some of us to never become Lesbians and some of us to prolong this
discovery and transition.
Often class assumptions and stereotypes are believed, such as
you will never be able to make a place for yourself in the world
without the financial and social protection of a man. I am sure aslong as post matriarchy has existed, wimin have found the courage

114 sinister wisdom #48 , Resistanceto not align themselves sexually with men, and have named themselves many things to connote this .
Herstory has documented many strikes of wimin globally withholding sex from men in order to have their demands recognized andadhered to. Some names used were "s trike of the womb," "sex strike,""strike of the uterus," "strike of the bedroom," "no natal for no nukes," etc.
Thinking of these wimin makes me wonder what would happen if a significant number, a critical mass of wimin, were politicizedaround this issue of not ever having sex with men? The entire economic, political and social structure would be altered; change would
be inevitable. Winun's oppression would cease. A united force of thismagnitude would encourage men, particularly European American
males, to give up their dehumanizing domination. Sex is an almighty motivator. Not having sex with men is very political, while
the practice of abstaining from sex with men can have positive
consequences for wimin whether they come out as Lesbians or not.
I have long advocated, both privately and publicly, united
global pussy strikes as a great weapon to combat patriarchy. I
proclaim this is still a viable strategy for ameliorating wimin's
oppressive life condition.
The Lesbians in this study have resisted having sex with men
and are trailblazers for all wimin to utilize everything in our power
to effect change.
So why have some Lesbians always resisted hetero-patriarchal
conditioning and some of us did not? Most of us didn't successfully resist. Those of you who have are invited to answer thequestionnaire at the end of this article. A manuscript or book will
be forthcoming. I greatly appreciate your time and cooperation.
The following are results of four questions taken from a preliminary sample of 40 responses.
Age - 39 responses
Percent
4/39 under 25
10.2%
19/39 25-30
48 .7%
10/39 31-35
25 .6%

10.2%
4/39 36-40
2.5%
1/39 41-45
2.5%
1/39 46-50
99.7%
Total
Average age is 30.12 years old. Within the 25-30 group, 8 respondents (8/39 or 20.5 % of the total) were 28 years old at the time theyanswered.

Winter 1992/93

Ethnicity -115

42 answers

0/42 Asian
0% 2/42 Native
0/42 African American
0% 3/42 Hispanic
1/42 French Canadian 2.3% 5/42 Jewish
2.3% 30/42 Caucasian
1/42 Roumanian
2/42 Irish
4.7% Total

4.7%
7.1%
11.9%
71 .4%
104.4%

Some wimmin were in 2 groups, and are counted in each group,
namely Irish/Native and Hispanic/white.
Influences of Gay Men or Lesbians During Youth - 42 answers
22/42 Yes
15/42 No52%
35%

5/42 Maybe
Total

13%
100%

Class Background -42 answers (calculated by respondent' s answer)
0/42 Very poor
0%0/42 Poor0%
1/42 Working poor
2.3%
4/42 Working class
9.5%
7/42 Lower middle class
16.6%
10/42 Middle/professional (teacher, nurse,
23.8 %
etc.; small management)
11/42 Upper middle class (lawyers,
26.1%
architects, upper management)
7.1 %
3/42 Upper, wealthy, heirs
85.4%
Total
Roles - 42 Questions answered
26/42 Neither; or don' t know; or both;or called one but feel other
61.9 %
7/42 Femme; or femme but really neutral;or dress butch but really feel femme 16.6%
20/42 Butch; or seen as butch; or others
called her butch but she feels neutral 47.6%
Total 126.1%

116 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance(c. 1992). PRELI MINARY QUESTIONS FOR RESEARCH ON

LESBIANS WHO HAVE NEVER VOLUNTARILY HAD SEX WITH MEN
PLEASE RETURN(Researcher is lesbian· Lesbians only may copy this questionnaire and give to eligible friends)

DIRECTIONS: Answer questions requiring brief responses on this page and use reverse side
for more extensive responses. Additional sheets ok If necessary.
(Confidenlial ily protected)

1. Name/pseudonym; AND ethnicity ---,~--;-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __2. Birthdate • city/state/country where raised
3. Are you an only child? _ _ _What numb-e-r-a-re-y-o-u~i~n"'thc-e---:Csi"b"lin-g-or-d;-e""'r?'. - - - -- -- - -4. What waslis your family's religion? If atheist or agnostic, please indicate. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _5. Were you raised by both parents and did your mother work outside the home?_ _ _ _ _ _ __6. Descrihe yd ur class background in at least one or more paragraphs(on back please)

7. How long have you been a practicing lesbian?_ _ _ _ What age were you when you emotionallyor psychologically became conscious of being a lesbian, whether you were a practicing lesbian or nol?
8. Total length of time you have identified as a lesbian and/or named and referred to yourself as alesbian?
Today's date? _ _ _.,...,._ _~,,-_-..
9. What are some of the major reasons why you feel you have never engaged in sex with men?

10. How have you explored your sexuality? (Use back please)
11. What were your thoughts and experiences regarding sex before adolescence? _ _ _ _ _ _ __12. What were your sexual fantasies Q!iQ[ to identification as a lesbian and after? Were men predominantsometimes, or women predominant sometimes, etc.? _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __13. Have you ever identified as femme or butch? ___ If so, which and why? _ _ _ _ _ _ __14. Please indicate any other infonnalion regarding your sexuality that you feel is relevant pertaining to
your abstin ence of sex with men. (Use back please.)
15. What assumptions did you make that caused you NOT to respond to heterosexuality, as opposed
to your siblings, cousins, peers, etc.? _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~16 ..Were there visible lesbians or gay men you were exposed to during your early to late maturation
How did they, or did
penods? _ _ __ If so, did you have personal contact with them?
they not, influence you? _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __PLEASE RETURN TO: RESEARCH} P.O. BOX 4247961 SAN FRAN, CA. 94102·9991

Winter 1992/93

117

Janet/Giovanna Capone

Rape and Empowerment: Three Pictures
1.

I have a dreamin which men
roam the streets
Their souls are gone.
They are programmed cyborgs
relentless and homicidal
they grab at every woman in sight.
In my sleep
the statistics swim in my head:
one in three women
will be raped.
That's one of us
every sixty seconds.
In my dream we are cogs
in a pinball gamewaiting, hoping we won't get hit
while the points keep ringing up
in their favor.

2.

I have a dreamin which I' m asking
pleading with a woman I loveto stay with me through the night
just this one night.
I'm so scared.
Tonight is the nighta man I don' t know well
said he would come to my houseand kill me.
He's omniscientand knows
where I live.

118 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance3.

untitled
Billie Miracle

I have a dreamin which I'm dressedfrom head to toe
in black leather.
I have numerous hatchets
hanging in sheaths
from my black vest.
They are silvery sharp axes
polished and gleaming.
The moment I see them
I remember
I'm an expert
with blades.
I take them out
in twos and fours,
swing them in graceful, rapid arcs.
I step forward, a woman gyro.
I make the wind around me
whistle.

Winter 1992/93

119

Kelly Jean Cogswell

Sonnets for God
1.

God never did a god damn thing for me
in all those years of mute sacrifice,and dimes to Lottie Moon'. I turned my cheekfor Him, to every eager knife.
I prayed for boys who yelled, "Fat Ass,""Bitch," and pinched my butt at school.
It was a cross to bear, not harassment, but a trial to learn control
of anger, fear, and that man in Catholic
Spain - molester, rapist. I prayed for him,
then prayed to forget the feel of his prickforced into my hand . I didn't. God never did
a goddamn thing for me. He died?! Tough shit.
I've taken nails through my hand - and lived .
II.

I've taken nails through the hand and lived
despite the stigma at parties, bloodin the potato chips, on the right hands of Christians
who hate my scars, and hold out latex gloves
like fellowship. There are niceties to suffering.
I want gore, a hatchet. I want to be free
to chop off limbs, old lumber eased
from rotting trees. I'm gonna build mea house of bloody hands, praying, groping,bloody hands. No gloves. I will shutsaints up in it. This ark will seem like home,or church. We could applaud martyrs cut
in silent shreds. Screaming, I refuse to die,I wave to passing cars. I stay alive.

120 sinister wisdom #48, ResistanceIII.
I wave to passing cars. I stay alive.
I wait for Sunday when they'll let me out
this walled up bone-yard. I've survived.
Beyond the edge of dream, I moan; I howl.
The stone door vibrates with my pain. Look!
It rolls away. I won't hang out - a side
show, soap opera, damaged goods,
a woman - and let those bastards bindme here again, empty handed, thighs
chained open for ghosts to walk between.
No cars stop. I won't submit to liesor hunger. I'll change stone to bread, eat
my fill. I'm sick of gnawing bones and pain.
I'm gonna take off. Flyaway.

IV.
I'm gonna take off. Flyaway
to somewhere, California, the sea
with sun a golden egg ablaze
and tides like Bach repeated endlessly,
but infinitely new against the grave
faces of fishermen. I want to restin peace, no swords or crosses, just waves.
I want to die like everybody else.
But years of visions in the desert where
sand shimmers and twists like rivers in the windand bones preach and miracles haunt the unwary
like suicides, changed me. I can't fishand sleep forever in the sun. I fly
beyond obedience. I blast through sky.

Winter 1992/93

v.
Beyond obedience, I blast through sky
like an A-bomb, lear jet, chariot, angel, God.
On a good day, I mimic God; I divebetween promises, winged heiress of ought,
and should, and get your feet off my chair,

don't shit in my yard. Cover your head,boobs, feet, cunt. How dare
you not wear panties, stockings, bra. You better
watch yourself. Death is dead. Words
trail from my mouth like globs of spit
and malediction. I'm not scared of worms
or rods that float slo-mo in rain-bowed mist,
hell, or condemnation. I've died and lived
to tell the truth. I've repented sin.

VI.
To tell the truth - I've repented sin
like silence. Give me cymbals, sirens, horns
erasing death, proclaiming glory. Thenin triumph, thou shalt not's shall be reborn
as yes! yes! I will learn to forgetGod. God is like my father, slow
to help, and full of stupid jokes, gin.
Or like my mom. The woman won't
be pleased. Her ideals change with the tide,or washing machine cycle. I wanted to scream,
explode, celebrate my imperfections, die.
Too bad I never did. I got redeemed.
I learned to love my cross, smile, nod.
I married Silence like nuns marry God.

121

122 sinister wisdom #48 , ResistanceVII.

I married Silence like nuns marry God.
I reclaim my voice. Word by word ..
I reclaim my cunt, my hands, my bodystubborn thighs. I divorce the bastardthat condemned me to repeat His will,
not mine, that subtle violence, passion playedout. I'll skip the supper, recant the real
live thorns and blood. Pricks are every place.
I carry a blade. I begin with No.
I refuse to nod my head and smile.
When someone yokes his weight around my throat I scream; I strike out with my knife.
I declare myself - Alive! I rage to see
all the god damn things god did for me.

The form of the poem itself - my "crown" of sonnets- is partially a dialoguewith] ohn Donne and others who used this particular form of seven interlocking
sonnets to express religious devotion. I intended my use of the form to be achallenge, a subversion.
*Note to Sonnet I.: Lottie Moon refers to the Southern Baptist Foreign Missionary fund named after a woman missionary to China

Winter 1992/93

123--------------_______________________ Revievv
The Montreal Massacre, edited by Louise Malette and Marie Chalouh,translated by Marlene Wildeman. gynergy books, 1991 (P.O. Box 2023,
Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada, CIA 7N7, $12.95)

A Moment of No Silence
When I read mainstream newspapers, I usually read the stories
about women being raped or murdered. I feel like I need to know.
At the same time, it feels wrong to read them, like I'm participatingin the absurd voyeurism of this culture that gives rise to shows like
America's Most Wanted. I know that reading reports of violence
makes me fee l more afraid and more powerless. Yet skipping themdoesn't feel right either: wouldn't that be saying it doesn't matter,or refusing to recognize the violence of American culture?
I've wondered if there was a way that specific acts of violenceagainst women could be talked about that would be more helpful,that would be informative and would empower people to take action
to end violence and support its victims. But the topic has been so hardfor me to think about that I've never really tried very hard.
So I was intrigued to hearof the collection of writings about theDecember 6,1989 massacre of women at the University of Montreal' s
school of engineering, hoping the women who put the book together had figured out helpful ways to talk about this specific andhorrifying episode of violence against women.
Actually, this massacre was the only time I can recall having
initiated a political action as a result of reading media reports ofviolence. With two other women, I organized a vigil protesting thedeaths and all violence against women. We stood at a busy intersection in commute traffic with signs reading "Feminism cannot be
killed," "Feminism is alive in Montreal," "Mourn and organize." Butthat vigil had felt like a fairly empty attempt to "do something," andhad left me knowing it was nowhere near enough. I hoped that The
Montreal Massacre would tell me about other acts of protest women
had organized, and would give me ideas for responses to future
violence or-better yet- ideas for preventing future violence.
I had a hard time getting around to reading the book. At thesame time I wanted help figuring out how to think about the day
when a man literally tried to murder feminism, I didn't want to124 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancereplay the scene in my head. That familiar wanting-to-know /notwanting-to-know tug-of-war raged inside me. But I finally did
read the book, thanks to my commitment to review it here. I was
surprised to find that there were only a few brief moments when
the writers carried the reader back into the Poly technique, where
the massacre occurred. There seemed to be a consensus that flashing back to those scenes doesn't help us understand them or prevent them from happening again. (Perhaps, though, this wasn't somuch consensus of the contributors as an editing decision.)
The collection is quite different from typical feminist anthologies in several ways. First, the subject is more narrowly defined.
Though nearly all the writings touched on broader issues including violence against women, oppression, and world wide injustice,each had the Montreal massacre at its base. Second, the book wascompiled in large part from existing writings about the massacre.
Many were reprinted letters to the editor. As a result, ideas wererepeated frequently and I found glaring omissions. These may be
a result of the editors' commitment to timely publication of thebook following the massacre. (The book was originally publishedin French a year earlier.) Third, though the book jacket promises abook filled with feminis t voices," a few of the entries were written
by men and men were widely quoted.
Ordinarily, reading a collection, I am most interested in the ways
the voices differ. But here, as I searched for a satisfactory response to
the massacre, it was the consensus of analysis that most interested me:
We must not accept acts of violence as a part of everyday life. Yet,at the same time, we must recognize that this act was not an isolated
there's a connection to be made between thisincident, but that
extreme manifestation and the aura of animosity which tar-nishes
the everyday confrontations of men and women."l Or, more bluntly,
I/[This] act was a condensed version of the same old shit." 2
The massacre of women at the Poly technique was unique onlyin that the murderer specifically stated (in his suicide note 3) that his
violence was political by specifying that feminists were his target.
While this should have helped the public at large to understand thenature of violence agains t women, the mains tream media, particularly the French language media, made sure such analysis wasomitted from coverage of the massacre. In fact, women- theirwords, their analysis, their grief and horror and fury, their ideas
about how to make this massacre the last-were once again silenced by the media and the Church in the aftermath of the killings.
1/

1/, ••

Winter '992/93

125

One male political leader "spoke of 'silence' as the only way tocommemorate this tragedy."4 Attempts made by feminists to put
the massacre into broader perspective were repeatedly shunned asattempts to take advantage of the tragedy to advance political goals.
Meanwhile, the media claimed not to understand how it could
be that only women were killed. But that lack of understanding
was no accident. "We [asa culture] don't understand, because if wewere to understand, we would know that the man who pulled thattrigger was not alone."s ''We were above all not to say that in every
male a Marc Lepine 6 could be found lying dormant..."7
In order to define the murderer as "other," the media immediately labeled him "a raving madman" despite the premeditation of
his rampage and his acquaintances' descriptions of him as "average." (Though many writers touched on the issue of the "sanity"of the murderer, radical analysis of this question was missing.)
While the killing of the women at the Poly technique was tragic,
these women were no more nor less important than others who
have been victimized. "Seen against the backdrop of other horrors
in the world and against the incalculable number of victims of allsorts of violence, [these 14 women are] a mere drop of water in theocean- but a drop that happened to splash us in the eye."s "I donot wish to understate the tragedy of the deaths of those fourteen
women. But I mourn their deaths as I do the deaths of relatively
anonymous women who are raped and murdered, or as I would if
Lepine had gunned down fourteen strippers, bag ladies, or secretaries instead of fourteen aspiring engineers." 9'*' '*' '*'were discussed by most of theThough parts of this consensus
writers, a few differing analyses were included. Marie Lavigne,
President of the Council on the Status of Women, wrote what must
be recognized as anti-feminist, "[Making] this tragedy symbolic of
the relationship between men and women in our society ... would
be to suggest that the progress made by Quebecwomen during thispast century ... was all done in an atmosphere of violence."1oThe strengths of the book are in the righteous anger of many of
the writers, the acknowledgment by the editors that women, "ordinary" women, are the experts on misogyny and violence against
women, and the parallel claim of the contributors to women's rightto interpret events such as the massacre.
It was the emotion in the book that affected me most, and theconnecting of this event to other events in the lives of women. I

126 sinister wisdom #48, Resista nee

wished for more of both. (I wondered if the editors made a decision
to play down emotion because men so often belittle women forhaving it, expressing it, taking it seriously.) While contributors
drew repeated parallels to other forms of sexism/ misogyny / patriarchal violence, there were very few stories about women's own
experiences and how their lives were affected by the massacre. If
this book was intended for a feminist readership, that's probably
fine: we've heard stories like that before. But if the book was
written for pre-feminists or non-feminists or even anti-feminists,then more personal experiences might help readers' understanding of the ideas and analysis the book offers.
I was especially moved by the piece called "A Little Story of
Censorship/'ll in which letters between two women following the
massacre tell the story of one of the women's being threatened withviolence when she speaks about what has happened.
Contempt for feminists, familiar to the contributors when it was
violently expressed at the Poly technique, grew more familiar in
the period following the massacre. "The public debate which followed the tragedy demonstrated beyond a doubt thata great manymen hate feminists. I'm not talking only about those men who
wrote articles, gave interviews, or swamped the open line shows,
but also about those who, in ordinary conversations, expressed
their contempt for feminists and feminism. The gunman killed
fourteen women, but in his wake thousands of men symbolicallykilled all feminists."12
I appreciated tidbits of analysis offered by contributors, particularly the following one about the question of whether all men
can be blamed for the acts of individual men: " ... [M]isogyny, phallocentrism, and ordinary sexism form such a cohesive politico-cultural
whole that it is difficult to identify each man's actual participation in
the oppression of women. The reasonable doubt each man benefits
from has, as a consequence, the invalidation of every generalization that can be made about men's behaviour toward women, andthus it reinforces the presumed innocence of them all." 13Contributors generally took care not to blame men in generalin the wake of the Poly technique violence. No one even asked
about the men who followed the killer's orders to leave the room
during the massacre.
Several writers, however, discussed reports that women victims were heard to plead that they were not feminists. Some seemed
angry at the victims for their words, though none directly blamedWinter 1992/93

127

them. ''What, in fact, did they actually mean to say? Did they want
to dissociate themselves from women who fight against unjust
laws, against violence against women, against the degradation of
women's image? Did they want to make it clear they were notlesbians, that they were not against men? Did they think, as themedia would have us believe, that feminists are a category ofundesirable women whose perspective is narrow and partisan,
whose words are bitter and excessive .. .?"14
No one suggested that those words may have been fabricatedby the media. More importantly, no one suggested that women's
choice to say them to an armed man may have been a self-defense
strategy. I wish that Montreal Massacre had included stories of what
the women did to try to survive. Maybe that information was
unavailable. I wished for the voices of some of the women who did
survive in the room that day (13 were injured in addition to the 14
killed). The book was dedicated to "the memory of the victims,"
but they were barely spoken about. I suppose this is appropriate to
the theme of this massacre being seen in context of the continuumof violence against women. Still, I wished for a sense of the individual women whose lives were shattered that day. Who were they
besides women who wanted to become engineers?15 Were any ofthem women of color? Lesbians?
Similarly, the book identified contributors of previously unpublished writings only by their occupations (writer, engineer,architect, psychoanalyst, acupuncturist, activist), making it impossible for me as a reader to discern whether the commentaryoffered represented the breadth of the women's community.
I was jarred by a couple of ideas repeated in the book. One wasthat those murdered were killed "because they were women." Thisis a construction that has bothered me in other contexts, too. It was
not their gender that got them killed; it was misogyny. Micheline
Dumont stated it well when she wrote that we are "despisedcollectively as women."16
Several contributors, in writing of their outrage that the sexist/
misogynist nature of the crime was ignored by the media, offeredcomparisons such as, "[Ilf the killer had picked out a visible minority, everyone would have cried racism ... "17While it is true that it's
sometimes helpful to learn about one form of oppression fromwhat we know about another, I am tired of white people using thiscomparison as if racism were always sufficiently understood andresponded to by whites .

128 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

I wan ted The Montreal Massacre to give me an unders tanding ofwhat happened after the massacre in Quebec. I learned that men
tried to prevent women from speaking at a demonstration sponsored by two women's groups. I learned that, despite the media's
attempt to cloud the message, some Canadian women discoveredit and began to understand violence against women in new ways.
I learned that, while feminists tried to issue a call to action to end
violence, no major changes have occurred following the massacre.
I was disappointed by the book's failure to spur readers toaction. When individual contributors suggested actions that womenor men take as a response to the massacre, the ideas were notparticularly creative, inspiring, or new.
I wanted The Mon treal Massacre to pioneer a new way of speaking
about violence against women that shared information, offered feminist analysis and the impetus to spur women to action to stop all
violence. At the same time, I feel concerned about our tendency to be
moved to action most effectively in response to horror and injustice.
In order to have a pro-active movement that goes beyond the politics
of response, the politics of saying "no," we must find other ways toinspire/incite ourselves and each other.
-Emily Levy

Sylvie Berard, p.77.
Paula Sypnowich, p. 129.
3 Reprinted in the English edition of the book, after much debate.
4 Discussed by Francine Pelletier, p.36.
5 Mireille Brais, p.66.
6 The murderer.
7 Armande Saint-Jean, p. 64.
8 Gloria Escomel, p. 131.
9 Sypnowich, p. 130.
10 p. 125.
11 Ginette Bastien and Rene Ouimet, pp. 82-86.
12 Escomel, pp. 132-133.
13 Nicole Brossard, p. 95.
14 Brossard, p. 97.
15 Nearly all of the victims were engineering students.
16 p. 88.
17 Elaine Audet, p. 44.
12

Winter 1992/93

129- - - - - - - - -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Letters
Dear Editors,
Thankyou for your retrospective issue. Iknow there are women
who thought the retrospective was redundant, because they had
read all the back issues, but I think it was very important at thistime. You see, I am22 years old. I was six when the first issue ofSW
came out. The retrospective gave me a chance to catch up on 15 .
years of lesbian-feminist thought. I find that many groups, queer or
feminist, forget to include young people. Often, we join groups
and find ourselves excluded by the groups' assumptions of acommon pool of knowledge about which we've never been taught.
I'm sure 43/44 was invaluable to many young lesbians.
I just got your issue about class. It couldn't have come at a better time, as I am in the midst of trying to educate myself about howclass has affected my life, an ed ucation the world around me seems
to be doing everything in its power to thwart. I am trying to finda name for myself as I stand in the structure of class. But as I heard
the voices of the women in the articles, I was confused. I understand the importance of retaining the power of a true name byrefusing to allow it to be misap plied, but I came away feeling that
I knew plenty about what lower-class did not mean, but very little
about what it was. In the area where my parents live, there is alower-class subdivision, a middle-class and a wealthy-class, butting up against each other. The boundaries between them are veryclear. But the boundaries I carry inside are not. From birth to 10, it
was welfare and food stamps. From 10 to 12 itwas free lunch. Then
my mother got married and it was off to the middle-class suburbs,
where, due to the luck of school zoning, I received an upper-classeducation and some upper-class prejudices. So what name do I
give myself? Am I mixed-class? What a strange term. The divisions
in my life are confused and jumbled, difficult to separate, but they
do not mix. How much right do I have to claim solidarity with thewomen whose anger so thrilled and frightened me? I have noanswer. I only hope that these questions will continue to be explored, as issues of mixed-race heritage and passing have. Please,
let's not make this discussion of class the last.
- Roxann McGlumphy

130 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Dear Editors,
We are receiving, much to our delight, some issues of Sinister
Wisdom here at our state prison facility in central Pa.
Please accept our heartfelt gratitude for this kind - understanding- gesture. Our prison library closely follows those Smithsonian
exhibits on the accouterments of ancient civilizations and god knows
we never get real feminist and lesbian prose! Our treasured friend
Robin Morgan always sends us magazines and books, but otherthan her, you are the only ones to remember us. Being loved andremembered in this desolate place means everything!
Allow me to relate an interesting and pathetic true story about
how your "Lesbians and Class" issue "got around" one night.
Our prison facility is an old structure and even though therooms were designed to hold one, every room houses two women.
As you could well imagine, this process of living with a roommate
requires the most delicate of balances. When roommates do notmesh with one another, then one crea tes a list of faults about thedefective person and seeks relief from the prison administration.
While I was at work one day in January, my roommate decided
that she wanted to live alone and proceeded to prove my obvious
undesirability as an inmate. She took the copy of "Lesbians andClass" and gave it to the correctional officer claiming that I had left
it under her pillow in an effort to recruit her as a lesbian. She
figured the obvious wording on the cover -lesbian - would be aquick expedient, eliminating the reams of paperwork usually involved in room changes. When every level of staff person waspresent at my arrival home from my office, I knew somethingsensational was up in my housing unit. People were looking at mewith dismay, others with a mixture of respect and avant garde
permissiveness, and a band of others was sorely disappointed.
It took me hours to deduce - from a battery of questionswhat went on in my housing unit and where on earth was mybook? It seems that the unknowing officer called every authority
she could to advise her on how to handle this. Every type of prison
authority came over to examine the evidence. All were denied the much
expected catharsis. The issue was not at all about sexuality but rather
about people and the defective socialization process we all growWinter 1992/93

131

up with. To me, the "Lesbians and Class" issue was more about
equity within a closed and privately held community - or perhaps it was an urgent request for an unclosed community and an
open affirmation of all of us that claim to be female. At no point in
the prose was the issue about lesbian fucking.
I did get my book back at about 9:30 that night- I also was told
to pack my room because I was moving. I smiled sweetly at thecorrections officer and slowly lifted my shirt to reveal my belly andchest. I said, "So sorry, ma'am, but I'm not moving anywhere-1
have the chicken pox t" My room - my roommate and myself- werein quarantine.
It is fascinating to note than in my room at the time were copiesof Curious Wine, The Price of Salt, and an anthology, Lesbians at
Midlife which is as sacred to me as is the New Testament to Christians. My roommate had plenty to go on to fabricate a decent lie,
but not enough sense to do a moment's investigative research
before entering the old battlefield.
I s till have the same homophobic roommate and very fortunately
for me I have the joy and delight of a special friend who lives inanother housing unit at the prison. One of the many rules here is
the no physical contact clause, so it is very rare that there is anythingthat even purports to be love-making in Muncy.
And, my guess would be, that if I were to find private timealone with my cherished partner and fri end we would most prob-ably
just hold one another and cry. There is no assuaging the abject
horror of prison, least of all by an act of sex.
Being lesbian at Muncy means awareness of all women andtheir suffering, even my homophobic roommate. It means a knowing look exchanged between survivors. More than anything itmeans self affirmation in a world that is still horribly patriarchalstill 100% male abusive.
Since you were kind enough to share Sinister Wisdom with mehere at prison, I thought it only proper to share this true crosssection of institutional life with you.
In Sisterhood,
Judith Wagner

132 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance_____________ Contributors' Notes
Amber Katherine: I'm a white middle-class dyke. I'm occasionallyeasy-going, and I enjoy hanging out with my friends and being
philosophical.
barbara findlay is a 43-year-old white lesbian lawyer who works on
issues of racism, sexism and homophobia. She says her greatest
strength is also her greatest weakness.
Billie Miracle is a48-year-oldEuro-Americanwho has lived on women's
land in southern Oregon for the past 18 years. She is a visual artist
working in pastels, acrylics, woodblock printmaking, and nature installation. Her current project is the development of a women's studio forarts and expression. Please write her for more information.
Dawn A. Rudd: I am a 29 year old artist, activist, poet and healing
warrior woman, committed to truth and integrity. I believe women
are the healers and sa viors of this planet, with the power to transform
our lives and the lives of others through vision, love and determination. I am proud to be a woman, proud to be of African and Native
American descent and determined to share all that I am with mycommunities. My creativity is a celebration of my love, my spirit andmy diversity.
Denise Nica Leta is a lesbian activist, poet, writer, teacher, t'ai chipractitioner and a working class Sicilian-Italian/ American rebel andmore.
Diane F. Germain: lama French-American Feminist-Lesbian psychiatric social worker who recently concluded a strength group for
Women Survivors of Incest and/or Childhood Molest which was five years
rwming. I was arrested and jailed for protesting the objectification of
women in the "Myth CaliPORNia Kontest" in 1989. I create cartoons,written humor and computer clipart as a hedge against the misogyny ofheterosexist phallocentric patriarchy and to tickle the Lesbians.
Emily Levy: I am a feminist. I have had dreams of being forced by
Nazis or the KKK to state whether I am a Jew, a lesbian, one who has
survived incest. Dreams in which I've known that my answer will
determine whether I live or die. In my dreams, my choice is clear, andI proudly state my identities . But if I were awake, I'm not always surewhat I would do.
Irena Klepfisz is the author of A Few Words in the Mother TonguePoems Selected and New (1971-1990) and Dreams of an Insomniac Jewish Feminist Essays, Speeches and Diatribes (8th Mountain Press).

Winter'992/93

133

JaneUGiovanna Capone: I identify as Olive, neither white nor ofcolor. I'm a working class poet and fiction writer of Neapolitan
descent. I was raised in New York, and now live in Oakland. I coedited (with Denise Leto) Sinister Wisdom #41 on Italian American
Women: II Viaggio Delle Donne, have been published in various dyke
journals, and am completing my first novel, Olive and Lavender. For
me, writing is a constant act of resis tance, one which I undertake whileworking a 40 hour a week job. In everything I write, I grab backchunks of who I am.
Janice Gutman - I live in Seattle and drive a school bus. Giving thisspeech made me realize I have something to say and I'm glad
someone wants to hear it.
Janice Hansen is currently represented by galleries in New Jersey and
Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in Connecting Link, and beenreviewed in The Tren ton Times (NJ), Washington Heights Citizen (NYC) and
The Star Ledger (NJ). She works in watercolor and pen & ink.
Jasmine Marah: (working poor) enigmatic, eclectic, elastic, eccentric,
enthusiastic, fat, forty-five, furious fotomaker, gardener.
Joanna Kadi is a working-class, Arab-Canadian, able-bodied lesbian
feminist. She lives with her lover Jan, a dog named Grace, and Fury
and Orlando, two cats who bear no resemblance to those portrayed in
the story.
Jo Ann Starr is fifty-two and has been in prison ten years. When she
gets out (anytime between next August and May 1997), she hopes towork with abused women in the Los Angeles area - if you know ofsuch groups, write her c/o Sinister Wisdom.
Kadeth Pozzesi: I'm 33 years old, my name means solar eclipse, andI'm just trying to get along in the world as best I can.
Karen E. Johansson is a mid -forties lesbian, a mother of two children,
a companion to her lover and partner, hard at work blending her art,
her politics, and her poetry. She has been living, thinking and breathing in the Santa Cruz area for 17 years.
Kathleen DeBold isadykecartoonistand puzzle-maker. Her "Wordgaymes" are regularly featured in Lesbian and Gay publications. Her
cartoons have been published in The Lambda Book Report, Women's
Review of Books and Lesbian Contradiction, and will be included in theupcoming The Book of Love and Women's Glibber. She lives in a genericsuburb with her lover of 18 years, author Barbara Jolmson.
Kathleen O'Donnell: I'm a 38 year old european american dyke who
has worked as an electronics assembler, an organizer, a cook, an
editor, and a data miner. My lover z, friends, cats, activism, science134 sinister wisdom #48, Resistancefiction, chocolate, nature and poetry keep me going. I keep tellingmyself that the backlash against women, queers, poor people andpeople of color happened because we really gained some groundit hasn't helped much in facing the daily losses.
Kelly J. Cogswell: I am a queer, disabled native of Louisville, Kentucky, and a current, if somewhat reluctant, resident of New York
City. My hobbies are sorting through disability and social services
paper work and cross-cow1try skiing (not). I've been published in The
Cincinnati Poetry Review, Wayne State Poetry Review, The Khumba Times
and Now and Then. My fondest desires are to publish a collection of"sick" poetry and art, and to meet Dorothy Allison.
LA Dyer - a 37 yr. old Appalachian truth seeker, living briefly in San
Francisco - a spiritual separatist - the woods and mountains myheart. Parents were/ are mill-workers who identify as white, yet theirdark blood inspires me: Creek/Cherokee/Black Irish/Latin lineage- raised in hillbilly culture. I have long questioned Spirit, and sunk
deep in existential angst, wounded and confused from early childhood exorcisms by Christian fundamentalists - silenced for many
years. But no more. Now I drum, and chant, and howl my songs underthe moon - and dream of days where many wimmin remember theirwholeness. Through writing I am freed. I am grateful.
Laura Whitehorn is a revolutionary anti-imperialist lesbian politicalprisoner, an anti-zionist Jew, and a lesbian. Born in NY in 1945, she isin the 8th year of a 23-year sentence for fighting white supremacy,
resisting the government's colonialist practices, and for bombing theu .s. capitol after the invasion of Grenada and shelling of Beirut in 1983
(the "Resistance Conspiracy Case"). She remains politically active,
working to fight AIDS in prison (and was recently transferred afterparticipating in a demonstration against police violence at the federal
women's prison in Lexington, KY) .
Lenore Baeli Wang's work can be found in The Kelsey Review, Venture,la bella figura, VIA, Calyx, and Footwork: The Paterson Literary Review.
She has written a play, "Phebe and Rosalind," a love story based on
characters from "As You Li.\<e It," which she is trying to get produced.
She is completing books of essays and poems begw1 during a residency at the Ucross Foundation in Wyoming.
Lisa Kenney: I am, among other things, a graduate student living in
San Francisco, doing my best to "walk the talk." This is my firstpublished work.
Monifa Ajanaku: a believer in the potential revolutionary spirit ofvirtuous women to seek the essence of all truth that exists and therefore effect an invincible sisterhood which manifests justice and peaceon the planet.

Winter 1992/93

135

Naomi Guilbert: I am Sansei (third generation Japanese Canadian) of
mixed parentage - my father is French Canadian, my mother isJapanese Canadian. I live and write in Winnipeg, Manitoba.
Sauda (Lillian) Burch: I am a Black, nappyheaded dyke transport
from Chicago making my way in Oakland, CA. I am a writer andactivist on my return trip to the Mother. I edit regularly for Sinister
Wisdom as well as Ache: A Black Lesbian Journal. I am currently working
on a novel, most of which is being written as I sleep.
Sheila Gilhooly is a 41-year-old white lesbian printer who co-produced Still Sane with Persimmon Blackbridge. She says living well isthe best revenge.
Susan Rosenberg is an anti-imperialis t political prisoner and lesbian
who spent two years at the Lexington High Security Unit and iscurrently in the Maximum Security Unit at Marianna with other
women political prisoners.
.
Susan Stinson is a writer and fat liberation activist who frequently
performs her work. Her fiction and poetry is forthcoming in ananthology on Lesbian Culture from the Crossing Press, Sister/Stranger
from Sidewalk Revolution Press, and Tuesday Night from the Valley
Lesbian Writers Group. She lives in Easthampton, MA, where she isat work on a novel, Martha Moody.
Terri Fredlund is a 35-year-old Euro-American, working class lesbian with strong nomadic tendencies. She has been active in wimmin's
resistance camps and in the wimmin's self defense movements inGermany and the U.S. since 1981. She is involved in the politics ofvarious wimmin's projects wherever she goes. She has lived legallyand illegally in various places, both indoors and in a vehicle. She is
now in the Bay Area for a longer stay.
Terry McClain is a mixed media artis t with a background in fiber. She
is currently relocating to Oregon to pursue an MFA.
Toni L. Cassista: I'm an activist for the lesbian/ gay community, for
the women's community, for the senior community and for the fat
dyke community. If I could have anything I wanted it would bea jobof my own design where I am paid what I am worth and a home.
Tracy Becker: I'm a 23-year-old Ohio native who grew up in North
Carolina. I now live in Durham/Chapel Hill where I work as a copy
editor for a newspaper and spend my free time biking and writing,
not necessarily in that order. My work has appeared in Bay Windows
and The Church- Wellesley Review.
Xenia is °a Russian photographer who has worked for the Kremlin and
now devotes her creative spirit to capitalistic portraiture work at K-Mart.

136 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

Announcements and Classified Ads - - - - - PUBLICAnONSESTO NO TIENE NOMBRE, revista de lesbianas latinas en miami, isa new quarterly creative forum for latina lesbians with a Miami
twis t. Open to all forms (Spanish, Spanglish, English), $10 per year
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MAIZE, A Lesbian Country Magazine. $10 per year (4 is.). Single
issue $3.50. New address: MAIZE, POB 130, Serafina, NM 87569.
WOMEN FIGHT BACK - monthly national newsletter to "tell it
like it is" -wants personal statements of discrimination as well as
subscriptions ($36 for 12). POB 161775, Cupertino, CA 95016.
FRONTIERS: A JOURNAL OF WOMEN'S STUDIES has changed
its address to: Room 2142, Mesa Vista Hall, Univ. of New Mexico,
Albuquerque, NM 87131
WE ARE HERE - national resource guide for lesbian and gay
youth, pub. by the Gay Youth Comm. Coalition of the Bay Area, $5(pay to We Are Here): 2215 Market St., #479, SF, CA 94114.
GIRLJOCK 'zine can be got through POB 2533, Berkeley, CA 94702.
SEP - publication for lesbian separatists only, since 1986. Ask alesbian separatist how to reach us. Be a part of the contagious
spread of dyke separatist courage!
TEEN VOICES - by, for & about teenage and young adult women,$2 for a sample to: Women Express, POB 6009 JFK, Boston, MA 02114.
CALLS FOR SUBMISSIONBLACK LESBIAN CULTURE: PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE - Putting all" correctness" aside, let's be hones t and claim ALL we are,have been and will be for centuries! All and every form (inc.: bios,
hers tory, songs, jokes, rumors, anecdotes, fashion, art, organizations,bars, radical & separatist rnat., etc.) welcome. Guidelines, info: SASE
to Terri Jewell, POB 23154, Lansing, MI 48909, running deadline.
MULTICULTURAL LESBIAN RELATIONSHIPS anthology. Firstperson, cassettes, interviews OK. Topics are: racism within andoutside relationships, having/ raising children; socializing/ friendships; language differences, etc. For guidelines, info: SASE to Rene
Dawson & Terri Jewell, POB 23154, Lansing, MI 48909.

Winter 1992/93

137

ARAB FEMINISTS: Arab-American, Arab-Canadian, Arab /Middle
Eastern women now living in the U.S. or Canada, for an anthology
to be pub. by Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press, in order topromote visibility, provide a forum and sustain political activists.
All forms. For info, SASE to: J. Kadi, POB 7556, Minn., MN 55407.
EATING OUT - fiction, erotic fantasy, true-to-life experiences,
poetry, essays, recipes - the fun stuff - for lesbian anthology on"eating out" while dining in. Women of color, big, physically challenged and fun women encouraged to apply. Send SASE to: N.
Landers, 3717 W. Cermak Rd., Chicago, IL 60623 for guidelines, info.
BY AND ABOUT WOMEN WITH FACIAL HAIR - all forms
sought by bearded lesbian: presenting ourselves, pride/shame,self acceptance, interactions, how class, family, age, race, sexual
identity affect our decisions, writing by women of all choices(bleach, shave, trim, grow, remove, etc.). Send w / SASE to: Lyn
Staack, POB 239, Hartford, VT 05047.
BROTHER-SISTER INCEST - any form of work on paper on ourbrothers' inability to keep their hands and organs away from us.
Pseudonyms can be used . Send with SASE to: Risa Shaw, POB. 5723, Takoma Park, MD 20913-0723.
RISING TIDE PRESS, a new lesbian publisher, seeks full-length
lesbian novels. For guidelines, send SASE to: Rising Tide Press, 5
Kivy St., Huntington Station, NY 11746.
LIKE WRITING ABOUT WOMEN? WE NEED YOUR STORIES! .
LAVENDER LIFE, 215 Cleveland Ave., Endicott, NY 13760.
WOMAN OF POWER - all forms except poetry for #26 on"Language" (deadline March I, 1992). Query: POB 2785, Orleans,
MA02653.
BAD ATTITUDE is a new radical women's newspaper seeking
international reports of women's struggle on every front. Info: 121
Railton Rd., London SE24 OLR, England.
EVENTS/ORGANIZING/CONFERENCES/FESTIVALSAUSTRALIAN LESBIAN FESTIVAL AND CONFERENCE, Oct.
1993. Write POB 985, Fremantle, Western Australia 6160 for info.
OLOC - Old Lesbians Organizing for Change helps form newgroups of lesbians over 60, provides ageism education, stimulates
existing groups to confront ageism. Contact: OLOC, POB 980422,
Houston, TX 77098.

138 sinister wisdom #48, Resistance

LAVENDER L.E.A.F. is the Lesbian Emergency Action Fund ofmoney anonymously available to any S.F. or Alameda County(CA) lesbian of poverty or working class background who needs
it. Send checks, queries to: L. Leaf, POB 20921, Oakland, CA 94620.
INTERNATIONAL MARCH on the UN to Affirm the Human
Rights of Lesbian and Gay People, June 26, 1994, called by theInternational Lesbian and Gay Assoc. (ILGA) & U.S. organizers
Stonewall 25. USorg. meeting Jan. 15-17in Dallas. Muchmore info:
Stonewall 25, 208 W. 13th St., NYC, NY 10011-7799.
MARCH ON WASHINGTON, April 25, 1993 for Lesbian, Gay & Bi
Equal Rights & Liberation. To register, get info, volunteer, donate:1012 14th St. NW #705, Washington, DC 20005,1-800-832-2889.
(AD)VENTURESSALLIE & EILEEN' S PLACE, vacation cabins for women. A safe,
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EMMA GOLDMAN mug shot coffee mug features 1901 mug shotand Goldman quote "Sooner or later the American people aregoing to wake up." $15, includes shipping. Free Catalog includes
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Winter 1992/93

SUPPORT'( ou

THE LABRYS PROJECT
Helping Lesbians Heal from Incest - wants a safe home for all
lesbians having trouble surviving due to incest memQries, aswell as a meeting place for local
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sinister wisdom
Some Current & Back Issues#47 1 Lesbians of Color: Tellin' It Like It Tis'. Special 160-page edited by lesbians of color
includes important new work in all forms-essential reading!
• Villanueva, Manyarrows, Sapphire, Tanigawa, Sayyed, Omosope, Rudd, Li, Tiamaya •#46 1 Dyke Lives. New fiction and poetry from Russia, Canada, France, Australia, Germany and the U.S. on topics from Palestinian identity to Lesbian weddings.
• Krause, Kadi, Sprecher, Lim-Hing, Duncker, Freespirit, Hawthorne, Schaffer •#45 1 Lesbians and Class. The first issue edited entirely by poor and working class dykes
includes analysis, personal narrative, challenge, poetry, fiction & a graffiti wall.
• Cardea, Blue, Dashu, Marah, Elliott, Lauby, Sorella, Platt, Courtot, Caspers •#43 / 44- The 15th Anniversary Retrospective. 368 pages, over 90 lesbians' work fromthe second wave. An amazing source collection-inspiring and thought-provoking.
#42 1 Lesbian Voices. Our first intentional all-lesbian issue, with work on legal theory,
racism, Israel, hair, surgery, the effects of rape on relationships, much more.
• Bogus, Warland, Parks-Satterfield, Negr6n-Muntaner, Seto, Sapphire, Robson •#411Italian-American Women's Issue. Guest edited by Denise Leto & Janet Capone.
• Azpadu, Guido deVries, Tavormina, Capra, fides, Cuomo, Veno, Tornatore •#40 / Special Focus on Friendship. Essays, fiction, editorial discussion transcript.
• de la Pena, Hardy, Svirsky, Gray, Stinson, Dambroff, Mi Ok Bruining, Hauptman •#36 1Special Focus on Surviving Psychiatric Assault 1Creating Emotional Well Being in
our Communities. Includes testimony, prose, poetry and essays.
• Hope, Aal, Caicedo, thundercloud, Robson, Sien, Moran, Ward, NiHera, Willcox •#34 / Special Focus on Lesbian Visions, Fantasy, SciFi. Includes work on Disability, Separatism, Building and Transformation.
• Katz, Ortiz Taylor, Hoagland, Allegra, Livia, Louise, Rios, Danaan, Marah •#33 / Special Focus on Wisdom. Lesbians of Color, Non-violence, War Stories, Incest,
Leaving a Will, Assimilation, The Real Fat Womon Poems, Coming to Terms .
• Anzaldua, Ruth, Rich, Chrystos, Kaye/ Kantrowitz, Hardy, Gilmore, Brody, Rakusin •#32 / Special Focus on Illness, Death, Mourning, Healing, the Disappeared, Hunting
Season, Dealing with Suicide, Cancer, New Ritual Observances.
• Maia, Allegra, Sears, McDonald, Waters, Hansell, Rosenblum, Butler, Stinson •#311Special Focus on Sex and Fiction, Coming out in the South, Found Goddesses.
• Smukler, Blackwomon, Romano, Davenport, Dykewomon, McNaron •#28 1 Special Focus on Women & Work; Body Image, Size & Eating.
• Kiepfisz, Clarke, Heather, Sturgis, Gould, Boucher, Gomez, Sardella, Moran •#26 1Special Issue: To Go To Berbir by Jill Drew, a book-length journal written by an
American nurse working in Beirut during the 1982 Israeli invasion .
#25 / Butch / Fem in the 50's, Native American Roots of White Feminism, Haitian,
Palestinian, Puerto Rican Struggles, Jewish Radical Identity, Welfare Life.
• Allen, Cotrell, Root, Stecenko, Love, Paz, Smukler, Hall, Lipstadt, Brant •#211 Separatism Revisited, Jewish Survival & Defiance, Black Lesbian Writing, Photos
of Dykes in Drag, Suicide, Bars, Letters about Anti-Semitism .
• Arobateau, Segrest, Simpson, Tomes, Addison, justice, Kiepfisz, Foley, Crawford •Sinister Wisdom #1-19, 27, 35, 38 & 39 are out of print. Photocopies can be provided-$5 forthe first article, $1 for each add. in the same order. Allow one month for delivery.

essaysgraphics

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flnifTER
WlfDomSince 1976.. .

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lesbian periodicals in existence "Joy Parks, Women ' s Review of Books

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Submission Guidelines
All written work should be mailed flat (not folded), with your name andaddress on each page. Submissions may be in any style or form, or
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We publish only lesbians' work. We are particularly interested in workthat reflects the diversity of our experiences: as lesbians of color, ethnic
lesbians, Third World, Jewish, old, young, working class, poor, disabled,
fat. We welcome experimental work. We will not print anything that is
oppressive or demeaning to lesbians or women, or which perpetuates
negative stereotypes. We do intend to keep an open and critical dialogue
on all the issues that affect our work, joy and survival. See p . 5 for details
on upcoming issues. We are open to suggestions for new themes.

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.. . my survival is the challenge ofmeeting barriers and resisting theoppressive use of power; the questof wanting to belong, dealing with thecomplexities of owning and ownership,and living with the fear of losing fierce
love. I struggle for acceptance,
potentiality and right relations.
This is everywoman's journey.

-Sauda Burch

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