In college I was a radical Marxist feminist. Yes. I studied photography and poetry. I went on to earn a PhD in Rhetoric and Cultural Studies. I was part of a long line of proud activists. My mother was a women's health researcher and organizer. My grandmother and her 7 sisters--shirtwaist workers and recent immigrants from Hungary--marched in the early 20th century labor demonstrations on New York's Lower East Side.
I'm 20 years out from college. I work in the creative industry as a writer and strategist. I'm a single mom to two young boys. And while I'm still active--for example, the three of us volunteered in the last presidential election and I do some probono work--I haven't identified for quite a while as a radical feminist.
Until now. When Trump was elected, I came back out. And when I looked up, from beyond the shadows of my cloistered politics, I saw millions of women. Doing the same thing.
I attended the women's march in Washington DC, with my mother, niece, sister, sister-in-law, and best friend. We saw so many inspiring scenes that day. Met so many incredible women. And we watched as the mothers of the movement, mothers of--like me--young sons, called out their children's names. Loudly. Proudly. And we, a million strong, responded back. Eric Garner. Trayvon Martin.Jordan Davis. Michael Brown. Articulated so emphatically, with such thunder, that the boys could hear us from heaven.
There's more that I could say. So much more. The point is that this movement has harnessed the power of women, of woman, of the feminine, of mother. I'm emboldened, moved, alive and aligned. And I see other women. Really see them. And that enables me to speak my truth, protect my sons and be more fully who I am; a radical feminist.