Women's History Month - A Tale of Friendship
From Leningrad to Boston
“I am grateful to be a woman. I must have done something great in another life.”
—Maya Angelou
Growing up in the 1980s in an analog world where everyone listened to the same radio stations, watched the same ten or so channels on television, communicated through telephonic landlines, and enjoyed the fluorescent-lit malls as places of refuge from home laid the foundation of what our gender roles would become.
While individualism and consumerism became more pervasive, the influences of 1950s womanhood still had their way. Pop culture gave messages to women of being pretty, wearing makeup, staying thin, and smelling like “Love’s Baby Soft - on the theory that boys go sweet on girls who go soft” was of utmost importance to exist in the world. Ewwww. Yes, that was a real advertisement, never mind the images that went with it of young pubescent girls wearing tons of makeup and looking “sexy.” Because of potential copyright infringement, I can’t post the image but you can Google it.
You get the picture. Growing up, the messages of feminism were sure, go get that education but then you have to come back and make babies and settle down. We watched “Happy Days” for goodness sake, tales of the “good ‘ol days” when getting asked to go to “Blueberry Hill” was a sign of acceptance.
It wasn’t all bad - Difference feminism evolved from the former waves of feminism and expanded from the 1975 declaration of International Women’s Year which brought over 50 feminist coalitions together to demand equal job opportunities, equitable wages, universal childcare, reproductive rights, civil rights for lesbians, freedom for political prisoners and the ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment.
And all the movements after - equality in the 80s, showcasing distinctive contributions in their own right. The 90s “Third Wave” went punk and discounted any man who does not prioritize women’s freedom to control their bodies and lives. We still have so far to come and here’s a snippet of my own feminist journey.
My story of feminism is a story as a result of culture, society, and upbringing not rooted in total empowerment but with mixed messages. Sheltered suburbia still brings growing pains of finding worth, place, and value in this world.
My childhood was infused with girlfriends who betrayed me time and time again, I apparently needed the lesson again and again. Each time I didn’t speak up for myself, I betrayed myself and held onto my sensitivity like a badge because I would never think of doing to others what was done to me. It was me who became the victim again and again having no voice to speak up for myself but only for others. From marching on the Washington D.C. Mall to fight for women’s reproductive rights to helping a teenage girl and her family in the Soviet Union, here’s a snippet of my feminist story.
I am fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to speak up for a peer who lived in Leningrad, USSR - the Soviet Union during the Cold War. Unable to have a Bat Mitzvah because hiding her Jewish heritage was of utmost importance, I had one for her when I became a Bat Mitzvah. I received her name from, Action for Soviet Jewry, an organization that assisted the emigration of Jewish families living in the USSR to gain a pathway to the United States for the freedoms it offered. My family and I worked with the organization, wrote to then-Senator Paul Tsongas for assistance and after writing to Katia for six years her family came to America.
Katia became the only female friend I had during my middle and high school years grounded in truth and vulnerability. These letters of teenage angst were a place of refuge, from two totally different worlds yet we were both oppressed by the confines of society to be our sensitive selves in a harsh world. I still have all of her letters tucked away in a special folder.
Katia wrote me beautiful words in English:
…the lesson is uninteresting and dull, the more the teacher is silly. The more she demands us to know unuseful things sometimes the horror seizes me: How many unuseful things must I know but now I have forgotten about all the subjects… and enjoy getting up late, nice breakfast which looks like dinner, enjoy reading Hemingway…
Before the holidays began there was an evening party at our school. There were disco dancing but before there is a concert of actors. I don’t take place in the performance because there are many kids who make this better… It’s my new school and of course I met many new friends. To say the truth, I have no close friends there. At first because nobody knows about my family’s situation and I can’t say anybody a word about it. And in the second, I need to be secretive with others. One of the girls is closer for me than others. I feel she likes me and see interest to me in her eyes. They say I can listen to everybody (except my parents, as my father says), that’s why maybe. (she likes me)
Dear Shelley, of course it’s very pleasant to receive gifts and letters but the most important thing for me is the knowledge that I have a wonderful friend. I am very glad I have you, my nearest friends who sometimes thinks about me and recollects me."
Here was a young woman across thousands of miles having the same human experiences, sharing her vulnerability and tribulations of teenage angst. I sent my letters “return receipt” because I didn’t know if the government would open the letters before she received them. I also had to be careful of what I shared politically because I didn’t want to get her or her family into trouble.
The bigger picture was troublesome as the years went by, her letters became more worried and impatient. We became more aware as the world changed during those years and the Cold War between our nations seemed imminent. Her world was full of secrets and oppression and mine was full of first-world problems. However, the crux of it was a true friendship through letter writing. Sadly, when we finally met, it was an awkward encounter, we didn’t have the words in person after all the intense feelings shared behind writing letters, and the friendship dissolved. I wish I knew where she was today to tell her how much she meant to me all those years.
The expectations that I placed upon my girlfriends became the place where I was let down again and again. And I have worked to shed that victim mentality that impacted me deeply because it has allowed me to find the truth and strength in vulnerability.
Today, I am grateful for all the women in my life who came before me and stand beside me in light-heartedness, and facetious rebellion as well as excavators and seekers of truth.
Be vulnerable and care fiercely for one another. Care so much that you put a stranger first at times because kindness matters in this world more than you know.
It is time for women to rise up in partnership more than ever, to restore the goddess of the Divine residing within themselves, and to spark the light from one another for all to see all the beauty that defies logic, science, and law. To truly say yes to all women of all backgrounds, colors, and gender-identifying, to justify the anger of oppression to cover it all in a blanket of love used for good. Now is the time to share your radiant power to fight your pain in public, choose the lovers you wish, and wear the dress you want. I call on all women to find their healing so that they can share their healing with others for it is our birthright to have freedom and joy. Notice and relish in the laughter that emerges from your belly for that is the moment of true freedom. May it be so.
Really beautiful, Shelley💗