Reflections on 5C Feminism

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Recently, dorms across the 5Cs have become home to large Post-Its asking the question, “What does it mean to be a feminist at the 5Cs?” In my dorm, several days passed before the first responses began to trickle in. Reading these initial responses made me realize how differently I’d interpreted the question.

The first time I saw the poster, I thought about all the guys in high school who saw feminists as angry, overly sensitive women who didn’t want anything to do with men. I thought about how, in my first semester at Scripps, a stalwart member of the Second Wave essentially told me I couldn’t be a feminist because I didn’t see certain issues (not explicitly related to the definition of feminism) in the same black-and-white light as she did… and that feminism was probably out for me anyway because I was moderately religious. The semester after that, I had more than one discussion with a professor who insisted that women had to share the same views on a variety of issues simply because of our sex.

But the answers on the poster weren’t about the young men of the other colleges scoffing at Scripps’s feminism. The answers were about how 5C feminism meant being aware of – and speaking out against – all forms of discrimination.

I’d been so focused on defending my personal brand of feminism that I’d forgotten the responsibilities that come along with attempting to be an enlightened, open-minded member of this community. I’d been stuck in the mindset that, as a feminist, I was in the position of the victimized minority, instead of looking at it as a position of strength. I was always ready to debate someone, anyone, who dared to say that men and women shouldn’t have equality in social, political, and economic realms; I had the privilege of the argument without engaging in the action.

It’s been a few weeks since Thanksgiving, but I am grateful to those first brave souls who sketched their thoughts on the barren poster. I was expecting stories of arguments and alienation; I found snatches of strength and an awareness of responsibility. I was expecting the reaction to feminism; I found what feminism actually does.

This is a key distinction, one that I had clearly forgotten. It’s no one’s responsibility to give me a reality check, but I’ll take one when I see it. Feminism isn’t about me. Feminism is about all of us, about the ways in which our myriad other identities interact with our identity as female.

Last week, when I mentioned in a club meeting that Scripps doesn’t have a women’s union like Pomona, Pitzer, or CMC (Harvey Mudd, you’re up), I was reminded that our entire campus is a women’s union. After three semesters here, I feel more ready than ever to truly treat it as such. I feel more ready to learn from others’ experiences and more ready to act.

While finals next week will close the door on this semester’s classes, our practical exam in feminism is happening every day. Luckily, it’s a group test.