The Vagina Monologues

The Vagina Monologues have been part of my life since I picked up a copy of Eve Ensler's printed version of the play during high school.  When I was a first year at Rhodes, I went into Blount Auditorium with some friends and watched and laughed really hard, even though my face was probably beet red the whole time.  For the next three years, I had a speaking role in the Monologues and it was always a favorite part of my year.  Participating provided such a good opportunity to meet new and amazing people and to push myself personally (stage fright and Southern sensibilities made being on a stage for the purpose of talking about vaginas doubly challenging but also insanely fun) while being part of a movement that, while it might be complicated and problematic in terms of what it is trying to do by stretching the play globally and what is saying about women, is also doing something that is undoubtedly important.  

This year, the fabulous Andrea Tedesco asked for student submissions to the monologues so I wrote something about vaginas and me.

Thanks to Andrea and all the cast and crew for making a vagina safe space at Rhodes.  I wish I could have been there to see it!

I love talking about vaginas.  Academically, socially, politically, in a large group of people or over dinner with friends, I am all about a good vagina conversation. I love my vagina and appreciate all vaginas and want them to be comfortable and have all the rights they deserve.    

But getting here was a process.    

   

If I went back five or ten years, things would be different.  Back then, I hated my vagina. I hated my sexuality.  I was insufferable, angsty little lesbian that I was.  

I wish I could go back for a minute, catch myself holed up in my room, wearing a terrible puka shell choker and reading bad fanfiction.  There would be Buffy the Vampire Slayer box sets on the bookshelves (some things never change) and Nirvana on the stereo.  There would be posters of muscled men on the wall, God help me.  

I would tell myself this:

Now, I know you have all the feelings but you don't have to let them turn you into some miserable monster.  The family calls this room the cave for a reason; you're the scary thing that lives down here. 

So check yourself.  Appreciate the people in this world who love you.   

One day those awful journal entries will be nothing more than a good laugh and a slightly shameful blush as you read them aloud to your girlfriend. She'll laugh with you and beg to hear more and you'll hide your face in a pillow but turn the page and keep reading anyway.   

When you finally tell them, your friends will still love you.  Some of them already know, and they're just waiting on you to say it.  No, there's no magical gaydar, but I will tell you that there are only so many times that you can talk about sleeping with a woman before it becomes obvious that it's not a passing interest.     

There will be rough patches.  For all their good intentions, our friends and family will not understand some things. They will hurt your feelings, over and over. 

"Love the sinner, hate the sin." 

"I'll pray for you."

Things with Dad will get worse before they get better.  He will say: 

"Gays deserve what they get from AIDS.  They brought it on themselves.  Monkey fuckers."

His wife will say, 

"I hope you can change."  

You'll get stronger and learn that Dad's wrong, absolutely, and that you have no responsibility to keep pretending like he isn't spouting hateful bullshit.  You will always love him but it won't always mean that you have to hate yourself a little, too. 

Talking about sex and your own sexuality will not always be so painful.  It will eventually be something you love.  You'll spend lots of time talking about vaginas.  I know it's hard to believe.  

You will get asked the following question at least 50 times, sometimes from drunk friends at wine night, sometimes abashedly, over coffee. 

"Okay, I just have to ask, how does scissoring work?" 

You don't know now, and you won't know then.  It doesn't work, outside of porn.  Maybe for members of Cirque du Soleil?  Anyway. Your friends will be briefly disappointed and move on to questions about strap ons. 

Then there's this.  

"Just don't be one of those lesbians."  

Of course what she means, what they all mean, is don't be butch. 

Unfortunately, we are.

Fortunately, we are.

I want to tell you now, because it's important: 

There is more than one kind of woman. 

I know it feels like you're failing, all the time, but you're not. You're just different, scary as that is.   

There will be at least two awkward haircuts on the way to what our brother calls the "soldier look," but one day you will leave the dorm room in a blazer and button down and feel like your clothes fit your personality.  Finding clothes for your body type?  Another issue entirely, but don't worry, that will work out too.  

In time, you will come to own your butchness and to love it, and women will find it attractive and pull you closer to them by the tie you're wearing, picked as carefully as any pair of shoes or earrings.  

You'll fall in love and it will not be like the movies, but what movie ever told your story anyway?  Even when it ends, you'll be grateful for every moment.  She'll be smart and funny and beautiful and she'll get you a bowtie for Christmas.  Yes, bowties are cool.  Better, she thinks they're sexy.  

On that note, you will not live in abstinence forever.  

College will be rough at first but you'll leave a different person, a better, kinder person, and you'll be forever thankful to the people who helped you get there.  You'll stand on a stage with a bunch of lovely feminists and talk and yell and laugh about vaginas, of all things, and somewhere in there, you'll feel like a whole person instead of a broken one. 

It seems impossible to love yourself at this moment, I remember, but try, just a little, to get over yourself.  It is possible to give the love you have to others. Thank them and love them and eventually, you'll love yourself too. You'll be fine.  You'll be great. 

Trust me.   

Third Quarterly Report

This is my final quarterly report!  The next time I interact with Watson HQ it will be at Rhodes for the conference.  I can't believe this.  I can't believe it has been nine months already.  Time is passing so quickly now and in just a few short months I head to Canada for my final stop before returning home. 

Below is my third quarterly report, sent off to the Watson Foundation as a summary of my months in India and my transition to South Africa. 

To the Watson Foundation,

Hello from Cape Town! 

I arrived here a few weeks ago, but when I last wrote from Delhi, the Indian Supreme Court had just issued its ruling on Section 377.  The ruling reaffirmed the validity of 377, the piece of Indian code originally introduced by the British that criminalizes any "unnatural" sexual acts.  In theory this would apply universally to heterosexual and same-sex couples engaging in anything other than procreative sex but in reality it is clear that the intention of the law is to effectively criminalize same-sex relationships. 

Being in India during and after the ruling was such an educational experience.  Every week there were protests and meetings about how to proceed or how to challenge the ruling, and I was able to attend a variety of discussions throughout the city, including a national meeting held in Delhi and attended by activists and community members from across the country.  While the intention of the ruling seemed to be to shame same-sex and non-traditional couples, it brought many queer people and their allies out of the closets and into the streets.  

The privilege of witnessing queer India rise up and fight against the 377 decision is difficult to articulate.  Friends dressed in black with rainbow bandanas, belts, and arm bands distributed leaflets and told their stories. Groups marched and gathered throughout Delhi and around the country.  At Mumbai Pride, the first celebration since the ruling, there was a huge turnout, and I was so shocked and excited to see the mass of people stretching further and further back as we walked the streets.  Being able to watch the community mobilize and to listen to the conversation and attend the meetings and marches that accompanied this mobilization taught me so much about the strength, energy, bravery, and determination behind a social movement and protest like the one happening in India now.  I was able to listen to some of the major debates, about everything from how to support and include people of every socioeconomic status to which language should be spoken at meetings that included multiple regions to whether or not there was an imperative to speak against a major political party, which had many supporters in the queer community prior to 377, because the party supported the ruling and spoke against queer rights.

In between meetings and marches related to 377, I spent time at TARSHI (Talking about Reproductive and Sexual Health Issues).  I loved working in that office.  The work that they are doing is so important and the opportunity to learn from them was fantastic in itself.  On top of that, the people who work at TARSHI are incredibly intelligent, progressive, and kind and talking over lunch with such an amazing group of people was a highlight of my day.  My last day at TARSHI was really sad for me.  All of the people, the things they taught me, and the conversations we had remain with me; the office also gave me a gorgeous gold ship bookmark that is carrying me forward on my journey.  

In addition to work with TARSHI and 377-related activity, I attended meetings of an LGBT social group and spent time with many of its members regularly.  I found a strong community of people in Delhi, for which I was extremely grateful.  Between the queer community I met through pride, 377 events, and the social group, everyone at TARSHI, and the unbelievably generous group of people, mostly Fulbrights, that had me for Thanksgiving dinner just a few days after I arrived in the city, I had a strong support network and was able to learn so much about queer life in Delhi and in India.  Through more structured interviews and through everyday conversation, I heard a variety of stories and opinions about coming out, relationships, and thoughts on being queer in India since the Supreme Court decision. 

Although I spent most of my three months in Delhi, there were some fabulous side trips as well.  Three friends took me with them on a pilgrimage to Mathura and Vrindavan, sacred sites in the life of Krishna, and I went with them to various temples, dancing with a really nice family at one aarti and learning how to offer prasad at a temple famous for the magical eyes of the deity.  Vinay, Abishek, and Chitrang introduced me to a ton of delicious street food (I miss Indian food so much) and sent me home with a statue of Krishna in his childhood.  We also went together to the Taj Mahal.  I visited Varanasi and met some new people via a Queer Couchsurfers group.  We ended up back in Delhi together at a 377 protest.  I also made a trip to Rishikesh and Haridwar and, in a very small world moment, met a friend of a friend from Delhi on the street and spent the afternoon with him and his wife and friends.  

My last three weeks were spent in Mumbai where I attended Pride and some of the events leading up to the parade as well as a performance of the Vagina Monologues, which was a really interesting experience.  I have been a part of the show at home for the last few years and seeing the show in an Indian context made clear how much of it is, as one friend put it afterward, "really American."  Mumbai Pride was much bigger than I had anticipated and there were several after parties and a week's worth of events leading up to the march, including a great short film screening and a sort of open-mic night that showcased all kinds of Indian performers.  Mumbai also brought a visitor from home; Mimi, one of my best friends and college roommates, came to visit.  It was so good to see her. 

So much of India was beyond description.  I already miss the friends I made there and I learned something new every day.  At the same time, India was without a doubt the most challenging place I have been so far.  There were cultural differences that I anticipated but there were many conflicts and interactions that I did not.  These ranged from the practical, like finding safe and clean housing, to the extremely personal.  I became hyper-aware of my gender presentation.  Because so many things in India are gender-segregated and because I am somewhat masculine in appearance, I regularly dealt with questions bordering on harassment as I tried to enter the metro or train through the women's security or even just walking down the street.  I identify as butch and am comfortable falling somewhere in between normal standards of feminine and masculine appearance, but it has never been the case that this presentation has made me stand out in the way that it did in India.  I have never considered myself gender non-comforming, but now I do.  These interactions regarding my gender have made me think about gender and physical presentation in a whole new way, and I am still working through my thoughts.  One way of doing this has been writing; I had a piece published by a queer blog in India and have found writing to be an important outlet for working through various personal and political issues (not that they can be separated).  

Living in India also made me aware of poverty and urban development in ways that I had never been before this year. I will never again take things like potable water and reliable electricity for granted. There is a serious concern in Delhi about women's safety and when I was not with friends, it was not uncommon to experience harassment.  I was told by my landlords, roommates, and friends to avoid walking at night, even the very short distance between the metro and my apartment. There was one particularly scary experience, where a car stopped beside me at the metro and, when I declined a ride, followed me in an auto for a bit, that made me totally sure that following the advice of my friends about walking alone at night was a great idea.  I was sick so regularly that it became a normal part of life.  (In fact, I brought a bacterial infection with me to Cape Town but a doctor's visit and lots of antibiotics fixed it for good.)  I also had a number of housing issues that led to me hopping around the city quite a bit.  Still all of these things were important learning experiences and I am grateful for the new perspective and for the ways that I was challenged and pushed to find new solutions or confront totally foreign situations.  

A few weeks ago I said goodbye to India and arrived in Cape Town, where I found a happy and unexpected home in a local hostel and an internship at Gender DynamiX, a non-profit working on queer issues, with an emphasis on transgender and intersex issues, something that has come to be much more personal to me since India.   The city is without a doubt the most beautiful place I have ever been and just walking outside seems too good to be true.  

Cape Town Pride was smaller than I anticipated and gave me a chance to speak to many groups and also to ask about some of the tensions here in the community, including many built around race and gender (the parade is often seen as very white and very male).  Additionally, with the recent legislation criminalizing same-sex relationships and queer identity in Uganda and Nigeria, there are a number of important conversations happening here about how to react and support queer Africans.  I am privileged to be able to listen to these conversations and am still working through how to be supportive without overstepping my bounds as a visitor.  

Overall, the past three months have been some of the most challenging but also some of the most formative and impactful of my Watson year so far.  I am a different person than the one who left Memphis nine months ago and I feel that regularly.  I continue to be amazed every day by the people and organizations working under the banner of queer rights and am hoping to stay, as one of my favorite English teachers recommended, a sponge ready to absorb and try to process as much as possible in the beautiful and complicated world around me. 

All the best from South Africa,

Sarah Holland Bacot