ReACT Volume I Issue II by reACT: Read. Empower. ACT.

an international feminist literary magazine

Second Issue

EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR Connie Chang

PUBLICITY DIRECTOR Kenechukwu Abajue Umeh PUBLICITY ASSOCIATES Connie Chang, Mindy Wu FINANCE DIRECTOR Shirley Zhou FINANCE ASSOCIATES Mindy Wu, Connie Chang EDITORS Natalie Chew, Syeda Karim, Connie Chang, Jacqueline Gu

ART EDITOR Lily Lu ART ASSOCIATES Amy Yang LAYOUT DIRECTOR Lily Lu LAYOUT ASSOCIATES Syeda Karim DEVELOPMENT DIRECTOR Julia Pan DEVELOPMENT ASSOCIATES Connie Chang, Mindy Wu

Letter from the Executive Director

23 December 2013

It is our privilege to introduce our second, long足-anticipated issue of reACT magazine. Our first publication came out two summers ago, and now, one year and one staff change later, here is our second.

forget. Words cannot hope to express my gratitude. It is only through their tireless dedication and work that this second issue has been achieved. We would also like to extend our sincere thanks to the Qatar Foundation International for their support of our magazine and our vision.

Our mission is to encourage the arts as a means of expression for young feminists. As such, this issue is full of the creative voices from young women and feminists of diverse backgrounds. This time, we have focused our efforts on the perspectives of North American feminists, so that we may have a better understanding of the intimate struggles around us against a universal system of oppression. I hope that you will walk away inspired, as we were, when putting the Working with my extraordinary staff has magazine together. been an experience that I will not Best, Connie Chang Executive Director 2

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Table of Contents 4

Respect Spoken Word by Meggie Noel

Athena Art by Shirley Fang

Arrogance Poem by Connie Chang

Eyes on the Prize(Envy) Art by Mama Sonko Sow

Everyone’s Most Sacred Duty Essay by Robyn Di Giacinto

Going with This Essay by Emily Chang

Lady in Red Art by Lily Lu

To My Dear Sister From Another Mister Letter by Tai Tran

God’s Lonely Feminist Essay by Susan Haldeman

Cage Art by Gabriella Ryan

Congrats Photograph by Emily Chang

Cloudy Walk Photograph by Irene Qin

What You Cannot Touch Poem by Kelsey Higgins

Wrong Poem by Jack O’Halloren

Stretch Limousine Poem by Connie Chang

Trees Poem by Joanna Tao

Daydreams (Lust) Art by Mama Sonko Sow

Danger Art by Junang Ni

Midnight Life Photograph by Irene Qin

Get Real Poem by Mindy Wu

Painted Woman Art by Shirley Fang

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Respect

I tried to engrave respect on my arm because your constant reminder of what I lack in my manner resonates in my mind day after day

But the canvas of my arm is not long enough for that simple seven letter word

for

the retribution and repercussions my actions have

for the everlasting spick of hope that you persistently try to sputter

for the invigorating spirit that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m supposed to portray

for the pituitary gland that was supposed to inject hormones into my blood stream to help me grow and mature

for the eternal death of flames you hint is in my future

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for the curiosity I possess that questions any and all authority you supposedly have

for the trust that was never there and never will be

I tried to engrave respect on my arm because your constant reminder of what I lack in my manner resonates in my mind day after day But the canvas of my arm is not long enough for those meager seven letters

That one colossal word

Respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Respect. Repercussions Everlasting Spirit Pituitary Eternal Curiosity Trust Respect Seven meager letters, one colossal word

Respect! Meggie Noel From Boston, Massachusetts Age 15

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Eyes on the Prize (Envy) Mama Sonko Sow From Dakar, Senegal Lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland Age 17 6

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lady

red

Lily Lu From Boston, Massachusetts Age 16

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What You Cannot Touch Cage

Gabriella Ryan From Boston, Massachusetts Age 16

i am two people; one is young, and one belongs to you. i am no longer young i once wanted to be the red rose among a bed of wilting pedals but by chains of happenstance, you are my poisoned roots you created a crumbling statue and for unfathomable reasons, i decided i must not become ordinary for you would discard me

i am now a painting of your past forgotten, i was locked behind bars did i steal...or was i stolen? i have felt the breath of thieves on my neck i will turn to stone and crumble but at least you have not touched my heart

i could not move, nor breath for i fear the ravage of exhaling into the concrete stillness of empty passion will someone carry me to a place where i have no earthly cage? if this body belongs to you, then who do i belong to?

Kelsey Higgins From Bow, New Hampshire Lives in Amherst, Massachusetts Age 21

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Trees Trees have beauty, Even scarred, And although The way is barred They keep growing, Never ceasing, Growing upward, Lies unpiecing. It is true, Although it’s split And knows that it Will never fit. But it keeps growing Never stopping Even if The floor is dropping. It will stand With roots so deep, Even if It stops to weep. She’ll stand up And even scarred. She’ll keep going, Even though, The way is barred. She won’t give up She won’t give in Even if all Steal what’s within She’ll keep the past, But look ahead, And she will bloom Her wings full-spread. Joanna Tao From Weston, Massachusetts Age 16

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Midnight Life Irene Qin From Boston, Massachusetts Age 15

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Everyone's Most Sacred Duty: Modern Feminism and A Doll’s House

Discussion on A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen

Earlier this month, I had a rather interesting conversation with my friend Ani, who can best be described as a hipster, college student, and die-hard feminist. At one point, I mentioned that we were reading A Doll’s House in my

Athena

Shirley Fang From Boston, Mssachusetts Age 17

AP Lit class. Her response? “Jesus ballz. I hate that play!” Surprisingly, this attitude isn’t all that uncommon. Especially among younger feminists, Ibsen’s once shockingly revisionist stance on gender roles has become desperately passé. Modern women have moved on to pursue flashier freedoms; in today’s world,females don mini-skirts and chop off their hair, earn college degrees, become elected officials and fortune five-hundred CEOs. Nevertheless, modern women are more familiar with the patriarchal constructs of A Doll’s House than they may think. Even when today’s women become successful professionals, they are expected to be the universal givers and nurturers, and when they fail to carry

out these role, they are chastised by society as being immoral and unfeminine. Thus, the modern woman is just as much a doll as Nora, tethered by a chain composed not of economic or political subordination, but the inability to truly define her own identity. In many ways, our society has come a long way since the days of A Doll’s House. Women no longer need to beg and wheedle for their husband’s money as Nora does. In many households, women work outside of the home—sometimes even as the sole breadwinner, as evidenced in the recent rise of ‘house husbands.’ But this doesn’t mean that the underlying gender roles explored in A Doll’s House are not still relevant. To the average modern reader,

this may seem like absolute nonsense. After all, women work. They’re independent. They can vote. Why does any of this ancient Femi-Nazi bogus even matter anymore? Because archaically strict notions of gender roles are a poison fed to us over time, in doses so small we don’t even notice. In reality, men are not all part of some malicious patriarchal hierarchy hell-bent on keeping women in their place.Torvald, for example, doesn’t suddenly wake up one morning and say “I’m going to subjugate and objectify my wife today!” Instead, his conscious actions and reactions are a product of his environment: a society riddled with unspoken rules about the roles and responsibilities of the fairer sex. So ingrained is this dogma that when Nora asks Torvald just what these “sacred duties” are, he is unable to respond, simply sputtering, “Do I need to tell you that?...Before all else you are a wife and a mother” (68). In comparison to Nora, modern women are no longer confined to one sphere—Instead, they’re expected to straddle both. To illustrate my point,you can now find plastic doctor sets in the pink aisle at Target… but have you ever seen a baby doll or toy vacuum next to a G.I. Joe? Clearly, despite over a century of advancement in the professional and political arenas, the gender stereotypes present when Ibsen first penned A Doll’s House are far from extinct. Perhaps this predicament is most significantly exemplified at the end of Act 3, when an exasper-

ated Torvald shouts that “no man would sacrifice his honor for the one he loves”—a challenge which Nora promptly recognizes as “a thing hundreds of thousands of women have done” (70). The point isn’t that all men are selfish pigs. It’s that they have a great deal more freedom in whether or not they will be. On the other hand, both in A Doll’s House and our society today, women are expected to be the great sacrificers. For better or for worse, women are expected to love and nurture their children, and sometimes allowed to indulge in their “duties to [themselves]” (68)… so long as those duties don’t interfere with their most sacred. When we are no longer content to play these games—say, we leave our families like Nora did—then, we are lashed at for committing an action that in men would be considered wrong, but slightly less scandalous and unnatural. The world tells us that we are “blind, foolish women” (68). That we “have…no religion” or “conscience” (68). That we “don’t understand the conditions of the world in which [we] live” (69). Thus, how different are we from Nora? We are still dolls no matter what we do. If we attempt to conform to societal norms, then we cannot fully claim to be the masters of our own identities; and if we pursue an identity that diverges from the standard, the scorn of others reduces us to idiots, demons and madmen. Our lives, as Nora’s, become “nothing but a playroom,” swapping corporate

promotions for macaroons as we try to delude ourselves into thinking “it great fun when [we are] played with” (67). Yet the truly lingering relevance of A Doll’s House lies not just in the parallels in women’s objectification, but in our ultimate ability to transcend it. Just as Torvald “has it in [himself] to become a different man”, we too, have the ability to become a different society “if [our] doll is taken away from [us]” (70). Now, this does not necessarily mean that by themselves, women have the power to rewrite age-old precepts of what it means to be female. Torvald doesn’t change simply because Nora leaves; if she is to rely on her actions alone, then she will lose the game regardless. What truly shatters the Doll’s House is a realization of the collective—when both those who subjugate and those who suffer are forced to confront their masks, the linchpin of ignorance falters, and the game loses its power. And perhaps if we are lucky, we as a society and as human beings will be “so changed that” we discover the “most wonderful thing of all” (72): the right to pursue love, respect and self-determination, and the unspoken understanding that this journey is everyone’s most sacred duty. Robyn Di Giacinto From Brookfield, Wisconsin Age 18

“modern women are no longer confined to one sphere— Instead, they’re expected to straddle both” Read. Empower. ACT. | VOLUME 1 ISSUE 2

Wro

Bring an lemon to a biologist who specializes in fruit. “Look at this apple!” tell her. She will say, “That is no apple,” and proceed to define apples by a number of characteristics or perhaps their evolutionary history. Wait, smiling. Let her talk. You have a secret weapon.

“See?” she will finish. Ask her, “But a lemon is a fruit, right?” She will nod, a bit confused. She thinks you missed her point. Widen your smile. She has walked right into your trap. Pull out your dictionary. Read: “Apple. Noun. A yellow, red, or green fruit that grows on trees.” Say, “I found this in a tree. So by definition it is an apple. You cannot argue with a dictionary.” She will stand there with her jaw dropped. You are wrong, as wrong as thinking that two and two make five Huckleberry Finn is a pro-slavery novel sexism is misandry.

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ong

Bring misandry to a sociologist who specializes in oppression. “Look at this sexism!” tell her. She will say, “That is not sexism,” and proceed to define sexism not just by gender bias but institutional support. Wait, smiling. Let her talk. You have a secret weapon. “See?” she will finish. Ask her, “But sexism is gender bias, right?” She will nod, a bit confused. She thinks you missed her point. Widen your smile. She has walked right into your trap. Pull out your dictionary. Read: “Sexism. Noun. Bias against someone based on gender.” Say, “Misandry is gender bias. So by definition it is sexism. You can’t dispute a dictionary.” She will stand there, face in palm. You are wrong, as wrong as thinking that outer space is made of cotton candy Einstein was unintelligent lemons are apples.

By Jack O’Halloren From Boston, Massachusetts Age 16

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To My Dear Sister From Another Mister

“

You knew before I knew that this brother from another mother was different, and you showed me how special I was

Girl

”

who I truly was without knowing that , where do I even start? You you would always be there for me. are the salt to my pepper. You are the I want you to know that the supchocolate to my cookie. You are the port you have shown me will always be glitter to my sparkle. And you are the returned. That if a guy ever dumps you, strength to my courage. You knew I shall be ready with a bucket of Ben & before I knew that this brother from Jerry’s triple chocolate fudge ice cream another mother was different, and and our copy of “Legally Blonde” as we you showed me how special I was. You continue on with our silly selves. I shall be helped me come out to my own fine, there to always tell you that there are fabulous, diva self and not hide it. I could plenty of fish in the sea, that it is always never have been as brave and comfort- darkest before the dawn, and that if it able at school, home, or in public with simply wasn’t meant to be then it just

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Congrats

Emily Chang From Boston, Massachusetts Age 19

wasn’t meant to be. However, I will enforce my standards as your friend upon your future boyfriends. Although I do respect your choice in being with whomever makes you happy, to receive my seal of approval he must a) be cuter than me, b) be more open-minded than I am, and c) have a sense of humor. If all three are met, then I shall give you my blessing. That being said, I feel that to have a guy be the object of your desire is quite an accomplishment. After all, what more

could a guy ask from a beautiful, intelligent, brilliant, hilarious, and simply amazing girl who knows all the lyrics to many of Disney’s movie songs like “The Circle of Life,” or “Under The Sea?” Girl, you are all that, AND a bag of potato chips. I can only hope that you continue to hold your head up high and keep moving forward because you so worth your value and if you ever need someone to keep telling you that, I am here for you. Tai Tran From Dorchester, Massachusetts Age 19 Read. Empower. ACT. | VOLUME 1 ISSUE 2

Daydreams

Mama Sonko Sow From Dakar, Senegal Lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland Age 17

Get Real When you make a world of lies, you teach our children to swim in them. They breath it, think it, eat it, and spit it back out. It’s disgusting. It’s revolting. I hate it. Just tell us the truth you idiot. We won’t die from the truth. We need the truth. We need it to build real dreams, not illusions of afterimages. Why won’t you tell us the truth? Do you have some big secret? Do you have some advantage over us with your lies? Does it make you feel powerful? You surely must be a belittled man, to feel like that. Good luck in your lies, then. As for me, I’m going to tell the truth because I refuse to be fake - I demand to be real. Mindy Wu From Boston, Massachusetts Age 16

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Arrogance Until you crawl into my brain, See the money there; Until you make a nest among my organs, Pull on heartstrings to bid me a-sleep; Until you come with me to the store, Browse through the ice cream and porn, Smuggle cigarettes under my jacket; Until you cry with me at three in the morning, And hug me until I push you aside; Until you jump with me Into the water, naked, Laugh like the immortal children we are; Until we linger on the rooftop, Watch the sun rise and set in the same day, And paint our faces gold; Until I itch when you are away, And scratch when you are here; Until then, Piss off. Connie Chang From Boston, Massachusetts Age 16

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Going with This Thank you for sharing your story with me. I’d like to share my story with you, now. It was August 2009, and I was attending the Leadership Initiative program with fifty other delegates. We found ourselves separated by race, gender, sexual orientation, and other physical markers of difference, in a workshop that was supposed to help us challenge assumptions. I had been placed into the “Asian Group,” and we were expected to perform a karate routine at Culture Night. —Ching chang chong. I was twelve when I first heard the slur, trying to find my school bus, and the rhyme had rung out from an open window. Another student’s leering face. His friends, egging him on. I didn’t know what the words meant, but my heart dropped. I ducked behind a car, wiped my eyes. I almost missed my bus.— At that time I began to suspect something was wrong. It was very strange that the InIt counselors would be purposefully dividing us delegates into these sub-groups. But I fell for the trap, and, sheep-like, meekly followed the orders of our instructor. “Good! Okay, now, when you punch out with your first like this—‘Hwah!’—be sure to keep your elbow straight.” I punched out, yelped “Hwah!,” and kept my elbow straight. I obeyed my counselor, all the while conscious that karate was not even a martial art from China, the country my family was from; but I didn’t have the guts to say anything about it. Better to follow orders, I thought, than to make the counselors’ lives more difficult. So I went right back to doing as I was told. —“Emily, you know, it’s true. I’m not get paid as much as the white employees.” “Why not, Mom? That’s really unfair!” “It’s because my English is not as good.” “It’s perfectly fine, and besides, you don’t even need to use English doing market analysis. It’s completely irrelevant to your job.” “Yeah, I know. But my big boss... He makes millions, and he doesn’t want to pay us Chinese employees well. He will think of any excuse.” My mom absently rips a napkin into fine shreds. She gets up abruptly, dusts what’s left of the tissue into her hands, and discards it into the trash can.—

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Towards the end of our karate instruction, we heard the bell in the courtyard ring out. A few other delegates had rebelled against their counselors and were inciting the other delegates. My heart jumped when one of the rebels approached me, “Emily, don’t you want to be free?” “No,” I said. “I… I don’t know what to think.” The counselors looked at each other. “The game is up,” they said, and they led us back into the discussion room, where they explained to us that the whole activity was a simulation, that they were trying to push our buttons, to get us to rebel, which was exactly what those delegates had done. “Would anyone like to share anything?” asked one of the counselors after they were done debriefing us. I raised my hand. “This was no game. This is life; this is my life; I have been letting people tell me where I belong, and—I just listened to them, instead of standing up for myself.” I could have stopped there, but the words kept tumbling out. “All my life, I’ve prided myself on a few things: my academic prowess, my artistic skills—but now I see that some people will always attribute those things to my race or gender. Because of the color of my skin, I will not be taken as seriously as a white person. Because of my gender, I will not be taken as seriously as a man. But I also know now that there is always hope for change. I also know that others, like and unlike me, have faced similar challenges, worse challenges.” “This whole week I’ve listened to your stories.You have endured terrible things, and you have also allowed terrible things to transpire. I, too—” (I smelled asphalt from a school bus’s tires, watched my mother tear a napkin to shreds)—“have been victim and witness. But I will no longer be a bystander. I will no longer be passive. I will no longer let someone else tell me how to live my life. I will embody positivity. I will strive for change. I will share my story with others, and ask them to share theirs with me.”

And I’ll listen. Emily Chang From Boston, Massachusetts Age 19

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God’s Lonely Feminist I

never knew “feminism” was a dirty word until I enrolled at a Christian university. During my twelve years in the public school system, no one had ever questioned my sexuality or accused me of hating men. My twelfth grade AP English teacher had a unit on feminism, where we learned about the uniqueness of the female point of view in literature and society. I did not see this unit as a rarity or a risky subject. I never felt that I was unimportant or undervalued as a woman. I never worried that equality was too much to ask for until my rights were called into question. During the first quarter of my freshman year, I began to notice that my fellow students felt very differently than me. I had experienced gender inequality before, but I had never witnessed an inequality that was so deeply engrained and so blatantly ignored. Wasn’t the Bible supposed to teach us that we are all equal in God’s eyes? Why was I being told that women shouldn’t lead? A male student told me that women could not be leaders in the church because they were simply “too emotional.” I was appalled by this statement, and even more appalled that no one in the conversation challenged this view but me. I began to see that Christian women today are expected by many to be nothing more than submissive and quiet. I saw that male dominance was still a major part of Christian community, and I was not happy. In my second quarter, I changed my major from nursing to sociology, with an intended minor in women’s studies. I decided that if I was angry with the way things were, I should do my best to change them. However, as an eighteen-year-old with very little public influence, I grew tired of arguing. I was tired of people using Bible verses out of context to tell me that women should always submit to their husbands and should never speak in church (1

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Corinthians). I began to wonder when people would realize that they are missing the greater point; that no one person is better than another. We are all created equally. I quickly grew frustrated and bitter with my peers, telling off anyone who tried to put me down for being a woman. Instead of trying to listen to why people believed what they did, I wrote them off completely for their opinions. In addition to my exasperation toward my peers’ opinions, I was shocked by the number of female students who seemed desperately in search of a future spouse. It is not uncommon for girls to be engaged by twenty. While there is rarely an expectation for Christian men to be in search of a spouse this early in life, Christian women are constantly teased for seeking their “ring by spring” or their “MRS degree.” While society expects a man’s collegiate goals to be in furthering their education and preparing for a solid career, it expects a woman’s academic goals to be based solely around finding a spouse. It began to infuriate me that the first question adults would ask me was, “Any cute boys?” rather than, “What are you studying?” If I was so much as seen on campus talking to a boy, people would ask me if he was my boyfriend. I was incensed by these constant interrogations and often refused to answer. By the end of my freshman year, I came to the conclusion that perhaps this was something I would have to get used to. Maybe gender roles were so strong in the church because they were constantly being reinforced. While traditional gender roles may not be as common in society today, they are still very much a part of Christian culture. As a feminist, I may just be the exception to the rule. My frustration with the church was not changing any minds. I realized that I was taking the wrong approach. Gender roles are so prevalent in the church

that many people were raised believing them to be fair, just as I was raised with the freedom to decide my role in society. While I may believe gender roles to be outdated and unfair to women, others may feel differently. Is it fair to judge someone elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s upbringing if it does not directly affect me? No. However, I do believe it is fair to educate one another on why we think the way we do. While being one of the few feminists at a Christian university often feels a little helpless, it is comforting to know that I am the owner of my opinions and I have the power to make them heard. As young, impressionable adults, college students are very susceptible to influences from their

peers. If we could only encourage one another to treat each other with equality and respect, we could make a big difference. Though I may never be able to end sexism in the church, I will never stop speaking my mind. I believe that the more we speak out against sexism, the more we remove the stigma that is associated with feminism, especially in the church. If more people, male and female, are willing to stand up for equality, more minds will change. Susan Haldeman From Kenmore, Washington Lives in Seattle, Washington Age 19

Cloudy Walk

Irene Qin From Boston, Massachusetts Age 14

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Cut me open, Rearrange my parts. Put my brain near my heart So I can think and feel Like a machine. Connect my throat to My intestines, shorten the Digestive track, Polish my shoes And fit them on my hands. Blindfold me with my skin Kick me onto my elbows So I kowtow With my stomach to the ground. Take my best components And swap them for my worst: I get neither, Just mediocrity And an eyeball where my Mouth should be. Connie Chang From Boston, Massachusetts Age 16

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Danger Junang Ni From Boston, MassachuseTts Age 16

Painted Woman

Shirley Fang From Boston, Massachusetts Age 17