Being Amber Rhea

This inspirational post by Ren has lifted my spirits a bit.

You simply cannot say you want to help people in the sex industry if you deny them access to such simple and basic things, let alone legal rights, health and education resources, child care, and of course, their own voices. Not here in the really real world anyway.

I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll have to say it again: If you are against sex workers rights, then you cannot be, by default, an ally of sex workers. You don’t show people how much you care about them by assuring their legal status is often, in many cases, less than that of a house pet. And you can praise the Holy Trinity of Jensen, Dines & Russell as much as you want, but when those people have really done nothing to help actual sex workers where as actual Sex Workers Rights Organizations have - the types of organizations I see so often trashed by the fans of the trinity - well sorry, you are no ally, and…being my usual blunt self…you aren’t helping shit. In fact, you’re making it worse.

Because those people support the stigma. They support the illegal nature of some forms sex work and the “seedy reputation” of others. They hold up and play into a system which allows for “theft of services”. They support programs which deny basic things like condoms. They make it so prostitutes and other sex workers are afraid to report rapes, thefts, beatings…because under the world view they propagate, these people are criminals, messed up junkies, or full time victims with no agency. They aren’t, in short, real people…they are data points, book sales, and lecture tickets.

I am really looking forward to the fast-approaching Desiree Alliance conference! Woohoo!

From Apostate:

Back to my bosses… there’s something in their voices, a quality of how they speak when they are issuing orders, disagreeing, taking an antagonistic position. I believe it’s what people call “strident” when it’s coming from women and “authoritative” when it comes from men. And I’m serious: it gets me fucking hot.

I actually get a high surrounded by these strong women. What’s the smiles of men approving of my tits compared to the knowledge that kick-ass, strong as hell women have my back?

They don’t give an inch. They win arguments. They carry their points. They aren’t afraid of retorting sharply to the condescension of a man. They’re bitches. And you bet, they’re seen as such by most of the people they deal with, but damned if they care.

I’m learning. My voice has always, at times, acquired that strident quality but only if the situation was right. I still keep it consciously out of my voice very often because I have more superiors than juniors (as an aside, gaining worldly status - professional, ideally - is absolutely necessary to achieving full bitch status). But the bitch inside me is not very well-hidden. When I recently tried to tell one of my bosses that I was “easy-going” she gave me a funny look and then said, “Yeah, I get that a lot too,” and then we both burst out laughing.

I’ve noticed. You get old enough, you’re a woman - an intelligent woman - for long enough, and you become a bitch. There is no way around, unless people’s attitudes regarding powerful women change. Your voice and manner become strident acquire authority. People may not like you, but you get shit done, people do as you say and yes, you get respect.

Women like this inspire the hell out of me, too. I’m reminded of what my (awesome, female) lead business professor said in grad school, to my project group, which was made up of all women:

“A stern man is a stern man. A stern woman is a bitch.”

And I think most of us knew it by then, anyway - seriously, you learn it pretty early and it gets beaten into your head repeatedly - but coming from her, there was something inspiring about the way she said it. Yes, that double standard SUCKS and we have to continually fight to change it; in the meantime, though, I’ll happily be the ball-buster, the cunt, the bitch, whatever else, and anyone who has a problem with it can attempt to blow it out their tightly-clamped ass. It sure beats the alternative.

I’m also reminded of something Sassywho wrote a while ago. Her blog has since gone invitation-only, but I have a quote of it saved in an old post:

I am the Cunt who challenged your ideas in a meeting, and it even turns out I was right. I am the Whore who has slept with more men than your quota for a woman who deserves your respect, even if it is less than your number. I am the Fucking Slut who responds to your verbal abuse while I am bartending by making you wear that beer you just ordered.

I am the Bitch who wants equality in a relationship and refuses to be your mother. I am the Ballbuster who isn’t intimidated by your masculinity. I am the Wife that was not okay with your 15+ affairs, so I had an affair myself before I left. I am the Fucking Bitch who filed a restraining order on your ass and prosecuted you to the fullest extent of the law when you tried to intimidate me and my friends with harassment to keep me in the relationship. I am a Misogynist’s worst nightmare.

YES.

I first read this amazing, powerful, inspirational post by Jill Brenneman a few weeks ago, but I rediscovered it this morning while combing through my feed reader.

It’s hard to find a portion to quote, because the it’s imperative that you read it in its entirety. Here is an excerpt, but please, read the whole thing.

But we are fighting for social justice, we are fighting against oppression, we are fighting for human, civil and labor rights for reasons and those are often being missed by the media or the messages are being hijacked by the prohibitionists and their misguided conflagrations and stereotypes. Prohibitionist researchers who were never sex workers and know little about them other than their 2 hour interviews with loaded questions slanted for desired results. I’ve been to the big prohibitionist conferences and the biggest topics tend to be the number of stars of the hotel rating, how disappointing the eggs were at the continental breakfast or that their hotel suites had bad color schemes. I’ve been to their conferences and been given the list of prohibited words, phrases and ideologies that will be stricken from the record if used and/or lead to expulsion from the conference. These are some of the reasons I left that movement in 2002. I’ve never seen that kind of garbage at sex worker rights meetings conferences, events, even if those same events are nothing more than a meeting at an unheated, poorly lit space that some other org is letting us borrow, with no meal service other than what we bring for ourselves, but we are there because we are working on issues, social change and fighting oppression. Not because we are being funded by the USDOJ to stay in Washington DC Hotels after having to suffer the “indignity” of flying in coach because the Government wouldn’t agree to pay first class as some of the suffering prohibitionists did in 2002.

I’ve never known a more passionate, tolerant, empathetic, and authentic group of people than I have met in the sex worker rights movement. There is a great amount of humanity in our movement. Let’s make sure media sees that. Yes I suffered in the sex industry and as a child. But I want to choose my own path, my own career choices, and determine the propriety of my own experiences not have them reframed as some prohibitionist based projects would do for me. We don’t need to be rescued, we need fucking rights and the people who best know this are the sex workers themselves, not the politicians, not the researchers, not the media.

Generally, I’m not real big on New Year’s resolutions (although Rusty and I do have a joint resolution [har] this year to recycle more, and in fact I’m about to go to Target to buy some recycling container thingies), but Figleaf has a resolution I can definitely get behind:

Oh yeah, and *especially* for those of us who are heterosexual, as long as we’re exploring, let’s explore some new ways to be healthy, happy, and horny-together human beings without dragging quite so many misery-inducing stereotypes into bed with us.

A couple of powerful poems for your enjoyment today…

I DESERVE TO BE SAFE
By Daisy Anarchy

I deserve to be safe
whether I am giving it away
or selling it.

I deserve to be safe
whether I am a nun in a convent
or a street corner hooker
in a run-down inner-city neighborhood.

I deserve to be safe
whether I am saving it for marriage
or selling it
at a price you can or cannot afford

If I am selling it
I deserve to be safe
regardless
of just how much of it I am selling -
be it only strip-tease, you-can-look-but-don’t-touch,
or good, old fashioned half-and-half, honey.

If I am selling it
I deserve to be safe
whether I am selling it to one sugar-daddy
or as many takers as I can catch.

If I am selling it
I deserve to be safe
whether I am selling it in the classiest brothel in the county
or on the street where the cheapest hos in town work.

If I am selling it
I deserve to be safe
whether I am the health food earth mother goddess whore
or the most desperate, strung-out junkie toss-up.

Anarchist though I am
I believe that I deserve police protection
whether I am getting paid
to teach your child kindergarten
or getting paid
to suck your dick.

I deserve police protection
whether I am your wife
or the hooker you see
when you tell your wife
you’re out watching the game with the boys.

I deserve police protection
regardless of whether I give it away
or sell it
because I deserve to be safe.

I deserve respect
whether I am your mother
who nursed you and changed your diapers
or the whore you pray your mother doesn’t know you’re with.
I deserve your mother’s respect too.

I deserve respect
whether I am in a nurse’s uniform
or a stripper’s pasties
or a hooker’s mini-skirt.

I deserve respect
for the hard work I do
whether I pay my rent
with money earned
working in the factory
or working on the street.

I deserve respect
for the hard work I do
whether I buy my groceries
with money earned
cleaning your house, building your house,
or fucking you.
My life is precious.

My life is precious
whether I am the daughter you cherish
or the hooker you fuck
who is only as old as your daughter.

My life is precious
whether I comfort crying children
or comfort the sick and dying
or comfort you sexually and emotionally.

My life is precious
whether I am the wife
who slept with only one man her entire life
or the hooker who loves her job.

My contribution to society is valuable
whether I am cooking you meals,
engineering solar power,
creating beautiful works of art,
or giving you sexual pleasure.

My contribution to society is valuable
whether I am dancing in the ballet
or in the sleaziest strip-club in town.

I deserve to be safe.
I deserve police protection.
I deserve RESPECT.
My life is precious
and my contribution to society is valuable.

Don’t be surprised
when I EXPECT
safety and protection and RESPECT
for I know
my life is precious
and my contribution to society
is valuable.

The souls and lives and dreams of 100,000
beaten, jailed and murdered prostitutes
are righteously avenged
and finally freed
with this hooker’s expectation
of SAFETY and PROTECTION and RESPECT,
and my knowledge
THAT MY LIFE IS PRECIOUS
and my knowledge
THAT MY CONTRIBUTION TO SOCIETY
IS VALUABLE.

Give this gift to yourself, beloved sister,
share this gift with our family.
With this gift of loving self-respect
righteously avenge
finally free
the souls and lives and dreams
of a weary world of
beaten, jailed and murdered prostitutes.

May we all live free
in the glory and joy of life
that every human being deserves.

FOR EVERY WOMAN
By Nancy R. Smith, copyright 1973

For every woman who is tired of acting weak when she knows she is strong, there is a man who is tired of appearing strong when he feels vulnerable.

For every woman who is tired of acting dumb, there is a man who is burdened with the constant expectation of “knowing everything.”

For every woman who is tired of being called “an emotional female,” there is a man who is denied the right to weep and to be gentle.

For every woman who is called unfeminine when she competes, there is a man for whom competition is the only way to prove his masculinity.

For every woman who is tired of being a sex object, there is a man who must worry about his potency.

For every woman who feels “tied down” by her children, there is a man who is denied the full pleasures of shared parenthood.

For every woman who is denied meaningful employment or equal pay, there is a man who must bear full financial responsibility for another human being.

For every woman who was not taught the intricacies of an automobile, there is a man who was not taught the satisfactions of cooking.

For every woman who takes a step toward her own liberation, there is a man who finds the way to freedom has been made a little easier.

This video is awesome for several reasons:

First of all, obviously, that’s some seriously kick-ass pole dancing. Not only is this woman strong and talented as all get-out, she makes it look effortless and all her movements flow seamlessly.

And, how friggin’ cool is it to pole dance to Swan Lake? I played the oboe throughout middle and high school, so I think it’s cool in that regard, too.

Now somebody watch this video and tell me, in all seriousness, that pole dancing is just “swinging around a pole” and pandering to the Male Gaze. That much-linked Colbert Report bit looks pretty stupid next to this.

Next step, for me: get off my duff and check out a few more amateur night competitions, then sign up for one myself.

Just saw this post at Sexeteria, and it really spoke to me…

I will use this post today to proclaim this: from hereon out, I plan to spoil myself in every possible way. I am only going to think about myself and what I want and then I’ll indulge myself with it. It’s all about what I want. Whatever I don’t want, even if others want it from me, I’m not going to do or give.*

I’ve spent a lifetime not knowing how to do this. I never had an opportunity to allow myself this, even as a child. Now I can. And I intend to treat myself with the fullest amount of compassion and indulgence that I can. And I’ll look most fondly upon others who also want to treat me this way. I’m taking applications.

I’m tired of living with the coding that I only deserve/can expect so much–and of accepting treatment and a life that reflects that.

From now on, it’s all about me and making me feel good.* I can afford this indulgence. Too bad it took me so long to realize.

YES.

Now, I need to work on putting this lesson into practice in my own life. Oh wait a minute… I’ve been working on it for about 10 years now. It’s been a series of baby steps, but each one makes a difference. In any event, this is exactly what I needed to read this morning.

Oh, and if you’re wondering what the asterisks are for, they’re for a footnote in her post which, actually, is worth noting here as well:

*I have a feeling that some who read these lines will feel instinctively angry, annoyed, resentful, or will have some kind of internal response that goes something like, “That’s not a nice way to be. That’s so selfish/obnoxious/unrealistic/not how it works.” I know, because I’ve been there. Well, what you’re thinking, it’s not true. You just don’t get it yet. The reverse of “It’s all about me” is NOT “It’s not about you.” That’s all I’ll say about that.

Miss Syl, you are awesome.

Molly Holzschlag posted an excerpt from Marianne Willamson. It’s very timely that she posts this, because just a few days ago I was thinking of this passage and trying to locate it. I couldn’t remember who it was by, but I remembered that Belledame had posted it a few times. I wasn’t able to find it, though. And now, how serendipitous! So I figure I’ll repost it here, for reference and inspiration.

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.
And, as we let our own light shine,
we consciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

Interestingly, I seem to remember “child of God” being “child of the universe.” Which I guess just goes to show that Marianne Willamson, like me, doesn’t insist you hang your hat on the Judeo-Christian idea of God in order to be fully self-actualized.

I think I need to remind myself of these words on a daily basis. I really do.

I know most of my readers don’t live in New York City; nevertheless, I want to point out that Sex Worker Visions, the art show Dacia is curating, opens tomorrow. I wanted to mention this not because we can all hop on the subway and head over to the LGBT Community Center on W. 13th St., but because this project coming to fruition really inspires me. Dacia went out there and did something - and it’s something unique and awesome (and it’s getting press attention). I felt inspired in a similar way by Kate and Julie, the two women who organized the Decatur production of The Vagina Monologues (which happened last month) - just two regular people, wanting to make something happen and actually going through with it. And good god, let’s not forget the North Fulton Drama Club, the brainchild of Nikki, Thomas, and Alyssa. That totally blew me away.

Seeing my friends turn dreams into reality gives me hope for the things I want to do - even the dreams which are not yet fully formed, but just nebulous ideas of “wouldn’t it be cool if…” floating around in my head. For the longest time I always felt kind of intimidated at the idea of taking on projects that would require me to take risks - including, of course, the risk of outright failure. I would get hung up on logistics - which, to be fair, were often legitimate concerns (e.g., sparse supply of time and/or money) - and end up not doing anything.

But all the awesome stuff the people around me are doing has really driven home that whole idea of being driven by passion to produce amazing results. Because if these people, my friends, who are smart and passionate but not rich or famous or endowed with supernatural powers can make this shit happen, so can I.

The GDBF and I have a project in the works, and you’ll hear about it in more detail soon. A large part of why this idea hasn’t lost momentum in its journey to realization is that it’s our idea, our effort; he keeps me excited about it (and increasingly giddy) and, I hope, vice versa.

Since I can’t think of a way to end this post without getting incredibly cheesy, I’ll just tell you to go read Dacia’s Gothamist interview, published today. If you don’t feel inspired as well after reading it, you should probably see a doctor.

I don’t even know how I found my way to this blog. But I read this entry, and I found it so poignant that even though I don’t know this person from Adam, it really touched me and I wanted to link to it. I feel like there is a lot of truth in it.

(A more upbeat entry is coming shortly hereafter. It’ll be the “200 Things” meme, which I also discovered at that blog.)