Reflections on International Women’s Day 2019
March 8 2019
I move through the cold house in silence. Quiet. Still. I will myself not to wake my host. The powerful woman, nonetheless, appeared. First, in aural shock waves. I startled and a deep yolk emerged from my throat. We laughed and embraced and kissed goodbye. Still silent, speaking as few words as possible. The cold extended the time between us. I recall the vibrations of our exchange still working through me as I arrived at campus-early. The empty green reminds me a breakfast celebration taking place. Rather than participate in haste, I seek a quiet space. What is usually full of vitality and noise of young folks is now silent, freezing, and empty. My mediation takes me to another memory, where I am tasked to hold up these powerful women, wherever I go.
It is March 1988: The Toronto International Women’s Day coalition catches my attention north of Bloor. I am skipping school to find groups taking over downtown streets. Freezing and angry, shouting in harmonies, slogans I cannot recall-but the message, still the same: women united to fight against racism, sexism and economic inequality. I belong here. I am one with them. Then, as the sun hits the top of the sky I silently steal away. To remain unnoticed and quiet, yet in support of something much greater than I or me or you. That Friday I was given a language for values I soon would call my own; to embody issues of employment equity, violence against women and children, lesbian and queer sexuality, reproductive choice, imperialism, colonialism, and struggles of native and indigenous people and women fighting around the world.
Later that year I participate in another march.
December 1 1988
The UN introduces me to World AIDS Day. My holy Yizkor; my Yom Kippur; my losses; my mourning; my sadness; my tears; my forever heartbreak; my fears; my guilt. Self-preservation strategies misunderstood. I fear yet am a conscripted soldier. My mission dedicates my goal of raising awareness about the AIDS pandemic caused by the spread of HIV infection. Now annually. Never forgotten. My values grow and find articulation as I march alongside women I recognized from a previous march. These were the women who saved my life.
To all women and to those who share my values, my mission. I see you. I thank you. I am grateful.
March 10 2019
How far have we come? I remain a soldier. I am still full of sadness. As rings inside a tree, I mark out my victories; my losses. This year, I stood outside the breakfast — not hungry, just happy. This small victory reminds me to never forget.
To Carolee Schneemann (1939–2019)
Thank you for accompaniment.
You are an inspiration.
Your remarks (1977) of optimism and anger and politics should be remembered as I recall your life.
In the year 2000
no young woman artist
will meet the determined resistance and constant
undermining that I endured as a student.
She will never feel like
a provisional guest at the banquet of her life;
or a monster defying her ‘god given’ role;
or a belligerent whose devotion to creativity
could only exist at the expense of a man,
or men and their needs
Carolee Schneeman, “Women in the Year 2000" (1977), in Imagining Her Erotics, 2002.
