"The Mask You Live In"

On February 9, I attend a documentary screening sponsored by Family Action Network (FAN) entitled, “The Mask You Live In.” While sex is a biological, gender is a social construction — and a dangerous one too. Gender has become a binary, and on each pole lie associative qualities and expectations. To be a woman is to be weak, emotional, vulnerable, and most of all, lesser. “Be a man” now means, “be everything and anything a woman is not.” Masculinity is a reactive construction: it is the rejection of everything feminine. As definitions of masculinity and manhood become less and less fulfillable — “don’t cry!”, “fight back!”, “be a womanizer!” — sexism and gender inequity escalates. Perhaps, if men did not feel the pressure of being “masculine,” as society defines it, then men would have no means for oppressing women. If the very qualities that men reject are instead embraced, gender inequity would become less prevalent. Activists, such as Jackson Katz, have been saying sexism is a men’s issue for years, and this documentary exhibited just that.

Because of many men’s rejection of “feminine” qualities, they begin to distance themselves from others. Relationships require too much empathy, emotion, vulnerability, and self-sacrifice, so their relationships struggle. There is a proven connection between friendships and mental health, as presented in the documentary, and when young men begin saying, “I feel close to him, no homo,” it is no surprise that by age 12, we see 34% of boys having begun binge drinking and taking drugs as a way to escape the expectations of building an emotionless character.

The combination of factors that lead to false definitions of manhood are dangerous for both men and women. Men, in one way or another, are told that in order to be “manly” they must have emotionless relationships, improve athletic ability, achieve the most economic success, and see sexual relations as never-ending conquests. Eventually, these unattainable expectations can lead many men to use destructive and violent behavior as an outlet.

However, this behavior, which was originally an escape, has become incorporated into the definition of masculinity because it’s just seen as boys “acting out” rather than an indicator of an internal battle. In an article entitled “The Price Women Pay for Boys Being Boys”  first published in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer on May 13, 2001, Jackson Katz wrote, “One recent survey showed that 25 percent of teens know someone in their school who has been in an abusive relationship. Most gender violence is perpetrated by men who are not athletes. But when male athletes in high school, college or the pros are caught treating women in stereotypically sexist, physically abusive or sexually assaultive ways, because of their status and prominence in male culture they reinforce the idea that being disrespectful to women is part of the very definition of being a man.” And thus, as violence becomes apart of manhood, so too does violence against women.

It is the quintessentially human elements of our characters that have been deemed “feminine” and thus, inferior, which is proving to be a detriment to the humanity of men and women alike. If manhood continues to be defined as “everything a woman is not,” it is likely that men’s mental health will continue to suffer, women will continue to be oppressed, and the relationship between the two genders will be perpetually debilitating. Easier said than done, but, if men were to incorporate empathy and humanness into the definition of masculinity and reclaim the responsibility for passing that definition on to other men, both men and women would see a shift in their immediate realities.

Katz, Jackson. "The Price Women Pay for Boys Being Boys." Jackson Katz. Seattle

Post-Intelligencer, 13 May 2001. Web. 23 Feb. 2015. <http://www.jacksonkatz.com/pub_price.html>.

Choosing an Inquiry Strand

As per usual, I decisively elected to pursue an inquiry strand related to feminism. Throughout high school, I have been actively engaged in and conscious of the ways in which my growing female identity impacts my, and other women’s, experiences. Like any minority, women navigate through the world with a set of burdens and challenges that are so integrally ingrained into the country and world’s foundation. Inequity persists for women, and as I carry my womanhood into a new stage, I feel an invigorated responsibility to redistribute power appropriately. This semester, I hope to expand my knowledge and exposure to a variety of related subtopics within my inquiry strand. It is my goal that this knowledge translate directly into an educated agency now and in future action.

Thus far, I hope to attend a film screening of “The Mask you Live In” — a film about the messages men receive about being men in our country. I am intrigued and invested in the responsibility men have to advocate on behalf of women, and find that one of the most effect ways to combat gender inequity is for men to accept the responsibility of being allies, as well as amplify the calls for gender equity on behalf of both men and women. I also would like to attend an events entitled, “Putting your Passion Into Action: A Conversation on Promoting Civic Engagement and Political Leadership Among Women Hosted by the Young Women’s Giving Council” and “Why the Middle East Needs a Sexual Revolution.”

A Constellation of Song: Francis W. Parker's Holiday Vespers Concert

On December 18, 2014 in the Heller Auditorium, Francis W. Parker’s Holiday Vesper Concert paired music with community — two intangibles that are so often found together. It began and ended with all the performing ensembles. However, in between, the ensembles were interspersed with one another. The sixth grade followed the opening and Grape Jam followed them. The concert’s form was most telling of its communal significance: it placed the emphasis on creating music and interconnectivity, rather than making the 6th graders feel as though they were less talented or impressive than Special Chorus.

It began with all the choruses singing “Bonse Aba” by Victor C. Johnson, and continued with the 6th grade singing “Lanterns by Birds of Tokyo” and “Gaudeamus Hodie,” Grape Jam singing “What If I Never Speed” by John Dowland and “Circle of Life” by Elton John and Lebo M, 7th grade singing “Sing Ding-a, Ding-a, Dong!” by Lynn Bailey and “Sir Duke” written by Stevie Wonder and arranged by Audrey Snyder, 8th grade singing “Come to the Music” by Joseph Martin and “21 Guns” by Bowie, Philips, Armstrong, and Pritchard and arranged by Roger Emerson, New Chorale singing “Somewhere Out There” by Horner, Mann, and Weil and arranged by Ed Lojeski, Special Chorus singing the seven movements of “Ceremony of Carols” by Benjamin Britten, and, finally, all the choruses sang “Let the River Run” by Carly Simon and arranged by Craig H. Johnson as a finale.

Starting with the 6th grade and continuing through the finale, each grade represented more than one culture, religion, or genre with their set. During the seventh grade’s performance of Sir Duke, there was a young boy standing amidst the sea of seventh graders. While all the performers seemed to be enjoying, this boy embodied the purpose of music most obviously. He danced. He smiled. But most honorably was that he did so without caring what his peers may have thought. It was clear that no other force besides music could disable the insecurities that so often prevent us from living in the present. Vulnerability and the willingness to experience emotion so greatly is part what makes a powerful individual a valuable community member.

Combined, the concert’s ability to place value on all contributing member, as well as its ability to free the performers and audience members from the disengaged nature of our generation, sent a powerful message that I have witnessed and embraced infinitely. That is, music is unlike any other tool to which we have access: it brings together Greenday and Britten just as it brings together 6th graders and seniors.

Black-Jew Dialogues

On November 14, I attended a production at Anshe Emet Synagogue entitled “Black-Jew Dialogues.” Through sketches, improvisations, multi-media, and puppets, this two man show is has a mission. “The black and Jewish communities in America share a history of pain, oppression, pride, and a deep commitment to civil rights and justice. In the past several decades the communities have slowly drifted apart...From the inception of the N.A.A.C.P to black newspapers being first in decrying the abuse of Jews in Nazi Germany to the civil rights movement here, blacks and Jews have been arm-in-arm in their fight for social justice. Through laughter, honesty, conversation (and a little nosh), The Black-Jew Dialogues is our attempt to revive this all-important union.” Through brutal yet relatable humor, the show strives to model effective conversations about being an ally, as well as the difficulties of being a minority navigating American institutions.

One concept presented in the show that peaked my interest was that of competing lists of hardship. The “Jew” and the “Black” argued over which community had suffered more throughout their history, however, they eventually reached the conclusion that they aren’t even comparable, nor worth finding a way to compare them. I thought about this within the context of self-pity as a preventative to progress, and I continue to question the role of acknowledging and comparing hardships in being an ally.

I was drawn to the promising idea of historic allies. Allies are intrinsically crucial to creating change for an oppressed people because by definition, they are not apart of that oppressed group, and their power enables they and the oppressed voices be heard. The job of an ally, I think, is to amplify the voices of the oppressed. More interestingly, is the concept of a historic ally. It is almost beautiful to think of the parallel existences of two groups oppressed in different areas of their identity. It speaks to the value of having skin in the game: if you know what it is like to be oppressed, you will do everything you can to ensure others don’t have that experience as well. Allyship over decades requires immense collaboration that often seems unsustainable, and in this generation, the Black-Jew dialogues identified the Jewish-Black partnership to be struggling. As I move forward, I would like to assume responsibility for the relationship, as I know it is crucial to both communities’ futures.

The GAGDC: Using Beauty to Create Change

Today, I visited the Greater Auburn Gresham Community Development Corporation (GAGDC). Led by Executive Director Carlos Nelson, we experienced the history, architecture, culture, and needs of the Auburn Gresham neighborhood. The community, located on Chicago’s south side, is the 71st community area. GAGDC sees the development of relationships as integral to community organizing.

They focus on comprehensive community development by connecting the history of the community to its present and future. Namely, Mr. Nelson shared with us eight of GAGDC priorities in developing the community: encourage local business ownership and generate jobs for youth and young adults; promote Auburn Gresham through a broad-based publicity program; develop housing that accommodates all levels of income and special needs while preserving existing housing; focus development on 79th Street and into compact business clusters that are pedestrian-and-transit-friendly; develop a “transit village” near Winneconna Parkway; improve the quality of education for all people of all ages and help students and parents maximize the school experience, strengthen support systems for health and social services, safety and workforce development; and make enjoyment of the arts, culture and open space part of the of the Auburn Gresham way of life. Through relationships with their State Senator, Jacqueline Y. Collins, and numerous other partnerships among the community’s religious, educational, and political leaders, GAGDC seeks to fulfill all of their goals over the next five years.

The majority of our time with Mr. Nelson and the GAGDC was spent praising the assets, accomplishments, and developments of Auburn Gresham. When the south side of Chicago is presented in local and national news, it is always about the tragedies and obscenities. The GAGDC seemed to be tactically celebrating the marvels of their south side neighborhood in order to restore its reputation. By emphasizing such developments, progress does not seem hopeless, nor does the investment in the neighborhood’s progress seem a waste of time. This tactic — advertise the strengths and areas of improvement — is unique and seemingly effective in community organizing.

Derek Gripper Grips my Passion

I have participated in the Chicago Children’s Choir since 3rd grade. The Choir, created by Reverend Christopher Moore in 1956 — the height of the Civil Rights Movement—is a racially, ethnically, culturally, and economically diverse arts education program. Currently, the Choir has nearly 75 in-school programs that provide a music program to Chicago Public Schools’ whose arts education funding has been cut, an after-school program in 10 Chicago neighborhoods, and a top, accumulative performing ensemble, the Voice of Chicago. The nonprofit is nearly 3,500 voices strong, including eight- year-olds, as well as eighteen-year-olds. The strong voices ensure a strong mission: to create a better world through the power of music.

The Choir is diverse in its membership, as well as repertoire. Thus, for many years, the Choir has had a commitment and love for South African music, among many others. An alum of the Choir and conductor of a neighborhood program, Mollie S., travelled to South Africa and brought back numerous songs, as well as passion and love for South Africa (and its music). It was only natural that, for my public event, I attended a World Music Festival performance by Derek Gripper, a South African guitarist.

At the DePaul University Concert Hall, Mr. Gripper consumed the stage with a single chair, a slight scarf, and his guitar. Before my admittance to the the Voice of Chicago, I was in the Depaul Neighborhood Choir: we rehearsed in a building in the same corridor as the Concert Hall. I sat in the Concert Hall’s velvet-lined rows as an entirely different Ellory than the one that previously occupied the same space. However, one thing was the same: I was, and am, still confident that music has the ability to create universal, substantial change. As I watched Mr. Gripper and embraced the resonance of his mastery, the interconnectedness of my experiences reflected the potential music has to create a similar interconnectedness between humans. When differences consume our perception of each other, music has the ability, unlike anything else, to intervene. Music creates empathy and commonality, without denying the intrinsic value of diversity. My experience watching Mr. Gripper reinvigorated my commitment to music as a means for creating change, as well as made me question my responsibility to my own country’s challenges.