Original publication date,
January 25, 2017 Methow Valley News
I did not attend the Women’s March on Saturday.
I had a million lame excuses to stay home: I didn’t know what it was
all about, the president was already elected, there were loads of
laundry to wash, a house that needed cleaned, articles to be written, I
don’t like crowds. Ask me why I wasn’t planning on attending and I could
name off any number of avoidance reasons.
But after the march was done and it was too late to participate, I
read the Facebook post of a childhood friend. I met her at summer camp
when we were 8 years old. We grew up in the same church, became
first-year college roommates. I was her bridesmaid in her wedding, and
helped plan her first baby shower. Her post read, “The ultimate
demonstration a woman can make is in the closet on her knees. The
feminist movement is a humanist movement. Don’t be deceived ladies by
worldly arguments.”
The excuses I made to not march on Saturday suddenly became feeble,
embarrassing. I needed to march because today, in the year 2017, my
contemporaries believe that human rights are a “worldly,” that is,
“evil” cause. Her post was a reminder of how far I had come from the
world I grew up in, and the bigoted, repressive, ignorant beliefs that
continue to permeate the voting public.
My mother’s birthday was last week, Jan. 17. Years ago, she passed
away from ovarian cancer. During the week of her birthday I can’t help
but remember everything about her. How she burst into song during the
most mundane of tasks. Her giggles and laughter that were uncontrollable
and contagious. She lit up a room when she breezed through the door
with her bright smile.
This same beautiful, outgoing woman believed that women who wore
pants and makeup were dangerous. That feminists destroyed the moral
fiber of the country by encouraging women to work outside the home and
get an education. That the pursuit of equal rights and human rights
degraded the moral norms of a society. She held these beliefs and taught
them to me, until I reached my teen years and counteracted with my own
thoughts about human rights and our own moral obligation to provide
equal opportunities to everyone in this country.
For several years, our relationship was contentious. And then, she
made several courageous changes. She got a job outside the home. She
donned pants and makeup. She asked my opinion about human rights, and
carefully considered my viewpoints before changing her own. Before she
passed, she said to me, “I wish I had your courage. My life would have
been so different.”
With that thought, I am going to show my courage. On my blog,
www.joannabastian.blogspot.com,
I will begin making regular posts about the current issues up for
debate that affect us all personally. The short posts will contain an
overview of the subject, cite reputable sources, and include email and
phone contacts to make your voice heard. I will share transcripts of the
emails and voicemails that I send to our representatives. Anyone is
welcome to use my words as a boilerplate for their own communications to
our representatives.
