I've just sent my fourth email to a U.S. Senator today--all in response to what I've heard at Judge Sotomayor's confirmation hearings. While most of my day has been spent writing my upcoming book on teaching and spirituality, I watched part of the hearings over coffee this morning and more over a late lunch this afternoon. Those brief exposures to the questioning sent me straight to my email (and now, this blog).
Politics is hard for me. It's not good for my blood pressure. I know that things are often said "for show" because there's another agenda that these comments will support, but I find it troubling nonetheless. Distortions disturb me.
My first email was to Senator Jeff Sessions regarding his questioning of Judge Sotomayor's "wise Latina woman" comments in a speech. What disturbed me most about Senator Sessions' line of questioning is that he either refused to hear or really just didn't understand Judge Sotomayor's explanation of her comments. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume the latter.
I believe that the difference between Senator Sessions' poor understanding of Judge Sotomayor's comments and her (to me, very clear) explanation of them lies in an unamed core assumption about the belief in pure objectivity, which underlies most of our knowledge tradition in many fields of thought. However, as a feminist science studies scholar, I know that this assumption has been challenged by many. Notable among them is philosopher of science Dr. Sandra Harding who argues that our subjective experience must be considered in our judgments if we are ever to even approach objectivity.
Our experiences shape our perspectives, attitudes and beliefs in many ways, and lead us to form (often hidden, but deeply held) assumptions about many things. Without illuminating and naming the ways in which our hidden assumptions (based on past experiences) may influence our current perceptions, we are even less likely to make truly objective decisions.
It is not enough to merely assert that one is unbiased and is making objective judgments. In fact, to determinedly ignore the ways in which our subjective experience may influence our judgments leaves us even more prone to biased judgment. For example, for Senator Sessions not to name the ways in which growing up as a white male in a rural town of then racially-segregated Alabama may influence his perception of race and gender is to leave himself open to precisely the type of determined misperception and misinterpreation of Judge Sotomayor's comments that he has engaged in.
This is the very thing that most who operate from a position of race, gender, and/or class privilege miss in these types of conversations. Pretending that racism and sexism don't exist will not end them. The fact that we live in a hierarchically structured society that still institutionalizes difference influences how we all move through our world. If we don't honestly examine those differing influences and bring them to the light, we may never really eradicate racism, sexism, classism, and all of the other members of what Gloria Yamato calls "the ism family."
My next two emails were to my Minnesota Senators Amy Klobuchar and Al Franken. I hoped that sharing this language and way of thinking about this discussion of Judge Sotomayor's comments might help them make a better case in her favor.
My most recent email was to Senator Lindsey Graham. I found his seemingly warm and friendly questioning even more offensive in content than that of Senator Sessions. I was actually physically pained by the contradiction in his thinking regarding the focus of his questions.
On one hand, he implied that Judge Sotomayor may be biased regarding race and/or gender based on comments from speeches, not on her record (in my experience, actions speak louder than words). On the other hand, he demonstrated condescendingly sexist bias himself in instructing Judge Sotomayor to "tone down" her personality in her court. This "advice" was inspired by evaluations of her as a judge by New York attorneys that referred to her as "tough" and a "bully."
Sadly, this so-called data may offer a classic example of a sexist (or racist) double bind. In our hierarchical dominator society, we've defined leadership largely in terms of characteristics that almost directly correlate with how we define "maleness"--assertive, strong, task-oriented, etc. However, women in leadership must dance on the razor's edge--attempting to be assertive may get you labeled as arrogant, attempting to be strong may get you labeled a bully, and attempting to be task-oriented may get you labeled uncaring. It is far more likely that an assertive, strong, task-oriented woman will be criticized than any of her male colleagues who display the same behavior.
It is also not trivial to report that 17 of Judge Sotomayor's other 20 colleagues on the Second Circuit Court are male. Clearly, attorneys rarely have to come before a woman judge. When they do, they are far more likely to be critical of her behavior. If she doesn't walk the razor's edge carefully enough, she'll bleed.
We will never have more women and people of color in positions of power in this nation, until those who are already in leadership positions take the time to really educate themselves about how we keep inviting the dysfunctional "ism" family to the dinner table. We must engage in ongoing learning about the insidious ways in which we all participate in keeping this flawed social hierarchy in place.
Just saying "I'm not sexist or I'm not racist" is not enough. We each have to daily scrutinize our own behavior. If you want to understand more, I recommend Allan Johnson's wonderful little book Power, Privilege and Difference or bell hooks' Feminism is for Everybody.
Jul 14, 2009
Apr 30, 2009
Permission to Grieve: The Healing Power of Public Art
My tour of duty began shortly after my 14th birthday when my father arrived home from his job in the Pentagon’s Office of Southeast Asian Affairs to announce that he had accepted a two-year assignment in Vietnam. My parents began discussing where Mom and I should move in order to see Dad more often. Our choices were to remain in Virginia (and see Dad once a year), move to Hawaii (and see him every nine months), move to the Philippines (and see him every six months), or move to Thailand (and see him every three months).On August 24, 1969, we boarded a plane in San Francisco bound for Bangkok. Twenty-four hours later, I looked out the window as the plane descended toward an expanse of bright green rice paddies. Thus began what remain two of the most remarkable and challenging years of my life. Mom and I lived in Bangkok while Dad was in Saigon. For two years, we flew to Saigon or Dad flew to Bangkok every three months or so. During that time, I volunteered for the Red Cross at U.S. Army hospitals in Bangkok and Saigon.
I was a young, white, middle class, U.S. American girl travelling on a diplomatic passport which meant “special” treatment. I assumed that just being my father’s daughter would protect me. I assumed that race and class privilege would protect me. In my ignorance, I assumed many things. But, the experience of living in Southeast Asia was the beginning of the end of such ignorance. I remember Edna Cohen, a well-travelled neighbor in our apartment building who had moved to Thailand from Iran, saying “You may not understand it now, but in a few years you’ll begin to see all that you’ve learned from this experience.” Edna was right. And it didn’t take very long.
As soon as we returned to the U.S., I realized how different I was from other teenagers due to my experiences in Southeast Asia. The differences cost me. But, as is often true in life, the greater the sacrifice, the greater the benefit. The problem is that you have to recover from the sacrifice, before you can appreciate the benefit. It took me years to recover.
Over the years, I’ve pondered how to write about it without sounding like a whiner. After all, I didn’t have to carry a gun and I wasn’t asked to risk my life or to take anyone else’s. But, I did experience death. Like all U.S. Americans, my Vietnam experience consisted of many deaths—the death of my unchallenged patriotism, the death of my unquestioned idealism about democratic government, the death of my unwavering belief in my father’s infallibility, the death of my high school years, and the death of my innocence.
I had never grieved any of these losses until I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. nearly 20 years later. In the presence of Maya Lin’s black modernistic gash through the capitol city of white classical marble, I realized that I had always felt like a Vietnam veteran, too.
What made Lin’s memorial so powerful was its color and placement among the other monuments to U.S. history. Lin’s simple black memorial was buried in the earth, unlike the classical white memorials that towered over it—disrupting the orderly relationship of the monuments to each other. So, for me, Lin’s memorial felt like an honest and moving tribute to the Vietnam experience that similarly disrupted and left its scar across the heart of so many U.S. Americans.
And, then there were the names, the names, the endless walls of names. Was one name the soldier who helped me into the chopper that day? Was one name the solider who manned the machine gun that day? Lin’s wall, buried in the earth and reflecting a sea of losses, made it impossible for me to continue burying such questions and my own losses rose up like the tide and crashed on the shore.
As the tide of my losses ebbed, I looked around and saw how Lin's black gash helped so many honor their different losses. Some lost their lives. Some lost their limbs. Some lost their lovers. Some lost their brothers. Some lost their sisters. Some lost their fathers. Some lost their mothers. Some, like me, lost their innocence to the grief of a nation. Like the rest of the country, I needed to mourn that loss. Maya Lin’s art gave me permission to grieve.
Sep 6, 2008
The Bristol and Sarah Palin Story: Can We Talk?
The Republican Party's nominee for Vice President, Sarah Palin, is a woman with five children, whose unmarried 17-year old daughter, Bristol, is pregnant. If this isn't an opportunity to have a real conversation about so-called "women's issues," I don't know what is. So, can we talk?
Although many refer to the U.S. as the world's greatest democracy, it remains a political system in which women are not really free. Without control over when (and if) a woman chooses to have children, she does not have control over her life. Reproductive choice is inextricably linked with women's freedom--personally, socially, economically, and politically.
Unfortunately, as evidenced during the past few days, we don't seem to know how to have a real conversation about reproductive freedom. The Bristol and Sarah Palin story has offered us the opportunity for a complex conversation about all of the components of reproductive choice--one that gets beyond simplistic, either/or arguments and moves towards complex, both/and solutions.
A real conversation about reproductive choice would include honest information about human sexuality for girls and boys, for men and women, and would ask why boys/men aren't taught to be just as responsible for birth control as girls/women are. While the Republican Party has pushed for abstinence only education, teen pregnancy rates have grown in the U.S. Further, many adult men still don't consider it their responsibility to be concerned with birth control--that's a woman's job.
A real conversation about reproductive choice would explore why the U.S. has the highest teenage pregnancy rate of any industrialized nation. While the Republican Party has pushed for legislation that seriously limits access to affordable birth control, many young girls lives are increasingly defined by, and confined by, becoming mothers.
A real conversation about reproductive choice would ask us to consider what happens to the life path of a teenage mother who has no option other than to give birth to a child. How does she get the education that will move her beyond hourly wage work? The Republican Party does not want to allow girls/women unlimited choice about when (and if) they have children, but also doesn't want to use government resources to support them if they do. What's wrong with this picture?
A real conversation would ask us to struggle with the "other" side of adoption. Abortion critics never want to discuss the emotional and physical drawbacks of some adoptees experiences--a lifetime spent wondering why you were "given away," or struggling to define a sense of identity, or seeking largely unanswerable questions about your medical history. Certainly, many adoptees are happy with their adoptive families, but there are just as many who are not. It's not an either/or issue, which is why it should be every woman's choice.
The political problem is this. All teenage mothers aren't as lucky as Bristol Palin. All teenage mothers don't have the supportive family that Bristol Palin apparently does. All teenage mothers don't have schools and churches that won't shame them for attending even when they're pregnant. All teenage mothers don't have well-educated families who will ensure that they get the education to develop professionally and economically. All teenage mothers don't have the familial and financial support to help them parent their children when they are still growing themselves. The result of policies supported by the Republican Party that define "family values" solely in terms of a traditional nuclear family is that we continue to make individual women responsible for childcare with little to no network of support.
What about Sarah Palin's story? Is Todd Palin a stay-at-home dad? If he's not, then the "family values" folks have some explaining to do. It's not easy for children to grow up under the public eye and even harder if there isn't a parent available on a consistent basis to help them navigate this minefield. It certainly doesn't have to be a woman, but it has to be someone in the family since the Republican Party doesn't support government-funded childcare.
A real conversation would include uncovering our hidden assumptions about who should be responsible for childcare. It would force us to struggle with the difficult questions about how children are cared for when both parents work outside the home, because the truth is that most Americans don't have a choice. In most American families, both parents must work outside the home.
A real conversation would include an examination of the lives that are decimated by lack of care. We lose so many Americans, so early in their lives, to the hopelessness that leads them to drugs, alcohol, crime, and too often to the prison system. Counted among the losses are the $billions spent in the prison system, but far more important is the loss of human potential. If every American child had reliable emotional and financial support and an equal education, what might our nation look like today?
We won't ever have the answer to that question as long as our policies reflect the assumption of a traditional nuclear family. Further, the model of a stay-at-home mom and a work-outside-the-home-60-hours-per-week-and-rarely-be-available dad is not a guaranteed prescription for a happy family. Unfortunately, that's the model of the "family values" folks, though notably not the model of the Palin family.
In the end, a real conversation about so-called women's issues would help us see why these issues matter to us all--not just to women. Do we want a society, laws, and systems of government, in which only the fortunate few can thrive? Or, do we want a society where it is not only possible, but likely, that we all thrive? If our political leaders had the courage to lead a real conversation, we might actually build a true democracy. So far, we've missed the opportunity for this real conversation. And without it, we may never manifest the democracy that we so often claim we already are--with liberty and justice for all.
Although many refer to the U.S. as the world's greatest democracy, it remains a political system in which women are not really free. Without control over when (and if) a woman chooses to have children, she does not have control over her life. Reproductive choice is inextricably linked with women's freedom--personally, socially, economically, and politically.
Unfortunately, as evidenced during the past few days, we don't seem to know how to have a real conversation about reproductive freedom. The Bristol and Sarah Palin story has offered us the opportunity for a complex conversation about all of the components of reproductive choice--one that gets beyond simplistic, either/or arguments and moves towards complex, both/and solutions.
A real conversation about reproductive choice would include honest information about human sexuality for girls and boys, for men and women, and would ask why boys/men aren't taught to be just as responsible for birth control as girls/women are. While the Republican Party has pushed for abstinence only education, teen pregnancy rates have grown in the U.S. Further, many adult men still don't consider it their responsibility to be concerned with birth control--that's a woman's job.
A real conversation about reproductive choice would explore why the U.S. has the highest teenage pregnancy rate of any industrialized nation. While the Republican Party has pushed for legislation that seriously limits access to affordable birth control, many young girls lives are increasingly defined by, and confined by, becoming mothers.
A real conversation about reproductive choice would ask us to consider what happens to the life path of a teenage mother who has no option other than to give birth to a child. How does she get the education that will move her beyond hourly wage work? The Republican Party does not want to allow girls/women unlimited choice about when (and if) they have children, but also doesn't want to use government resources to support them if they do. What's wrong with this picture?
A real conversation would ask us to struggle with the "other" side of adoption. Abortion critics never want to discuss the emotional and physical drawbacks of some adoptees experiences--a lifetime spent wondering why you were "given away," or struggling to define a sense of identity, or seeking largely unanswerable questions about your medical history. Certainly, many adoptees are happy with their adoptive families, but there are just as many who are not. It's not an either/or issue, which is why it should be every woman's choice.
The political problem is this. All teenage mothers aren't as lucky as Bristol Palin. All teenage mothers don't have the supportive family that Bristol Palin apparently does. All teenage mothers don't have schools and churches that won't shame them for attending even when they're pregnant. All teenage mothers don't have well-educated families who will ensure that they get the education to develop professionally and economically. All teenage mothers don't have the familial and financial support to help them parent their children when they are still growing themselves. The result of policies supported by the Republican Party that define "family values" solely in terms of a traditional nuclear family is that we continue to make individual women responsible for childcare with little to no network of support.
What about Sarah Palin's story? Is Todd Palin a stay-at-home dad? If he's not, then the "family values" folks have some explaining to do. It's not easy for children to grow up under the public eye and even harder if there isn't a parent available on a consistent basis to help them navigate this minefield. It certainly doesn't have to be a woman, but it has to be someone in the family since the Republican Party doesn't support government-funded childcare.
A real conversation would include uncovering our hidden assumptions about who should be responsible for childcare. It would force us to struggle with the difficult questions about how children are cared for when both parents work outside the home, because the truth is that most Americans don't have a choice. In most American families, both parents must work outside the home.
A real conversation would include an examination of the lives that are decimated by lack of care. We lose so many Americans, so early in their lives, to the hopelessness that leads them to drugs, alcohol, crime, and too often to the prison system. Counted among the losses are the $billions spent in the prison system, but far more important is the loss of human potential. If every American child had reliable emotional and financial support and an equal education, what might our nation look like today?
We won't ever have the answer to that question as long as our policies reflect the assumption of a traditional nuclear family. Further, the model of a stay-at-home mom and a work-outside-the-home-60-hours-per-week-and-rarely-be-available dad is not a guaranteed prescription for a happy family. Unfortunately, that's the model of the "family values" folks, though notably not the model of the Palin family.
In the end, a real conversation about so-called women's issues would help us see why these issues matter to us all--not just to women. Do we want a society, laws, and systems of government, in which only the fortunate few can thrive? Or, do we want a society where it is not only possible, but likely, that we all thrive? If our political leaders had the courage to lead a real conversation, we might actually build a true democracy. So far, we've missed the opportunity for this real conversation. And without it, we may never manifest the democracy that we so often claim we already are--with liberty and justice for all.
Jan 31, 2008
Coffee and Revelation: Thanks to C-SPAN and Madeleine Albright
As a teacher, I am sometimes surprised at what students say they actually learn from me—some of the most significant things have to do with me just being me. So, it was with Madeleine Albright and I. One morning while she was just being herself, she taught me some very important lessons about women and leadership.
It began one day when I was watching C-SPAN over my morning coffee. Madeleine Albright on was testifying before a Congressional committee on how we should proceed regarding the U.S. involvement Iraq war. After her testimony, she answered questions from many Congresspeople who almost unanimously opened their questioning with comments of great praise and respect for Albright.
I thought about how I’ve allowed myself to believe that being an intelligent, strong-willed, determined woman will often mean that I am not heard and not respected. And, yes, gender sometimes plays some part in that. But, it’s also true that if you work hard enough and long enough at something, eventually some people will understand your mission and purpose. And, even those that don’t agree with your ideas, may at least respect your commitment to them. I saw that in the respect Albright had earned from her colleagues.However, my real awakening was yet to come.
A Republican Congressman (whose name I’ve conveniently blotted out of my memory) opened his remarks with a scathing set of accusations implying that it was Albright’s fault that we were facing the situation in Iraq. I watched with amazement as she listened to his tirade without becoming visibly upset. His remarks made it apparent that he had been in office long enough to have dealt with her while she was Secretary of State, and that there was “no love lost” between them.
I was stunned to hear someone speak to a professional colleague in such a childish tone, especially in a public forum, and my anticipation of her response became even more heightened the longer he talked. Since I have been in these types of situations many times, I wanted to see how Albright would handle this one. And, she showed me something that I hadn’t seen before. Honesty.
Albright opened her response to his “questions” with an obviously sarcastic comment about “what a pleasure it was for her to continue their always ‘collegial’ relationship” or some such thing—basically, she said “I know you’ve never liked me and I’ve never liked you either.” But, it was how she continued that impressed me even more. She basically said, “But, that doesn’t mean that we can’t solve problems together” and then went on to explain her response to his questions in the most honest, non-political language that I’d heard in a long time.
There was one more very significant moment in her testimony for me. She was trying to make the point that we must use diplomacy, not just military might, to resolve the issues in Iraq (and Iran)—that they will not be resolved with military force alone. She had already made it clear that in her view, the greatest mistake the Bush Administration made was to end bi-lateral talks with Iraq and Iran. Bush has been determined to lump countries together into multi-lateral talks with the U.S. instead of honoring their individual sovereignty and unique national concerns.
Albright described other international negotiations that she’d engaged in and made this point: you don’t have to like someone to sit down at the table with them. She also explained that nothing gets resolved if you don’t stay at the table and work through your differences. She added that even when you see no common ground, and you despise everything the other group stands for, you have to continue to talk.
Lastly, she made it clear that she did not feel it was necessary to “pretend” to like policies with which you do not agree or people whose behavior you don’t like—making it clear that one could be honest and still get things done. I made the connection between that idea and the angry Congressman who had questioned her earlier. I saw that there was no “love lost” between them, but I also saw that they were both still at the table trying to work on the issues in spite of it.
One of the lessons for me was this. I’ve thought that one of the reasons that my visions for how to solve problems are not heard is because of my “style” of delivery—that is, because people perceive me as too strong and determined and this is inappropriate gender behavior. In other words, I’ve believed that the primary reason that I wasn’t heard in so many professional situations was that in a patriarchal society no one can hear a strong, intelligent, determined woman. She’ll always be ignored and discounted as an “angry bitch” with “the tone” (an accusation that was frequently lodged at me, especially early in my professional life). This false belief had caused me to keep a low-profile, and continue to be a worker bee in the trenches instead of moving into larger leadership roles.
What Albright showed me was that some people will always view me negatively, but that even though sexism does exist it does not need to stop me. There will also be more wise individuals who can learn to respect my honesty, my strength, my courage, my determination, and my commitment to the things that I hold dear.
Another lesson that Albright taught me is that unlike Blanche DuBois, I do not need to be dependent on the “kindness of strangers.” She reminded me of the lesson that I am still learning—my sense of identity must come from within, must be guided by my own vision of who I am, of what my strengths are, of what I have to offer in this life, not by the good (or bad) opinion of others. I must continue to engage in the lifelong struggle to undo an internalized negative self image.
Albright also reminded me that I must never waver in my determination to seek role models and mentors who are women. I don’t mean to say that men have nothing to show me about leadership. But, listening to Albright that day reminded me about the ways in which my experiences as a woman in a patriarchy have a profound influence on how I perceive my life and how others perceive me. Given the facts of our gendered society, if I seek to create a model for what my own vision of leadership, I’m more likely to have profound insights about how that might work by understanding how other women leaders have been successful.
So, thank you to C-SPAN and to Madeleine Albright, who while just being herself one day mentored an unknown woman thousands of miles away. I hope that readers of this “thank you note” are also reminded of the biggest lesson of them all—how important it is for each of us to simply be ourselves. Do not follow someone else’s script for your life. Write your own!
It began one day when I was watching C-SPAN over my morning coffee. Madeleine Albright on was testifying before a Congressional committee on how we should proceed regarding the U.S. involvement Iraq war. After her testimony, she answered questions from many Congresspeople who almost unanimously opened their questioning with comments of great praise and respect for Albright.
I thought about how I’ve allowed myself to believe that being an intelligent, strong-willed, determined woman will often mean that I am not heard and not respected. And, yes, gender sometimes plays some part in that. But, it’s also true that if you work hard enough and long enough at something, eventually some people will understand your mission and purpose. And, even those that don’t agree with your ideas, may at least respect your commitment to them. I saw that in the respect Albright had earned from her colleagues.However, my real awakening was yet to come.
A Republican Congressman (whose name I’ve conveniently blotted out of my memory) opened his remarks with a scathing set of accusations implying that it was Albright’s fault that we were facing the situation in Iraq. I watched with amazement as she listened to his tirade without becoming visibly upset. His remarks made it apparent that he had been in office long enough to have dealt with her while she was Secretary of State, and that there was “no love lost” between them.
I was stunned to hear someone speak to a professional colleague in such a childish tone, especially in a public forum, and my anticipation of her response became even more heightened the longer he talked. Since I have been in these types of situations many times, I wanted to see how Albright would handle this one. And, she showed me something that I hadn’t seen before. Honesty.
Albright opened her response to his “questions” with an obviously sarcastic comment about “what a pleasure it was for her to continue their always ‘collegial’ relationship” or some such thing—basically, she said “I know you’ve never liked me and I’ve never liked you either.” But, it was how she continued that impressed me even more. She basically said, “But, that doesn’t mean that we can’t solve problems together” and then went on to explain her response to his questions in the most honest, non-political language that I’d heard in a long time.
There was one more very significant moment in her testimony for me. She was trying to make the point that we must use diplomacy, not just military might, to resolve the issues in Iraq (and Iran)—that they will not be resolved with military force alone. She had already made it clear that in her view, the greatest mistake the Bush Administration made was to end bi-lateral talks with Iraq and Iran. Bush has been determined to lump countries together into multi-lateral talks with the U.S. instead of honoring their individual sovereignty and unique national concerns.
Albright described other international negotiations that she’d engaged in and made this point: you don’t have to like someone to sit down at the table with them. She also explained that nothing gets resolved if you don’t stay at the table and work through your differences. She added that even when you see no common ground, and you despise everything the other group stands for, you have to continue to talk.
Lastly, she made it clear that she did not feel it was necessary to “pretend” to like policies with which you do not agree or people whose behavior you don’t like—making it clear that one could be honest and still get things done. I made the connection between that idea and the angry Congressman who had questioned her earlier. I saw that there was no “love lost” between them, but I also saw that they were both still at the table trying to work on the issues in spite of it.
One of the lessons for me was this. I’ve thought that one of the reasons that my visions for how to solve problems are not heard is because of my “style” of delivery—that is, because people perceive me as too strong and determined and this is inappropriate gender behavior. In other words, I’ve believed that the primary reason that I wasn’t heard in so many professional situations was that in a patriarchal society no one can hear a strong, intelligent, determined woman. She’ll always be ignored and discounted as an “angry bitch” with “the tone” (an accusation that was frequently lodged at me, especially early in my professional life). This false belief had caused me to keep a low-profile, and continue to be a worker bee in the trenches instead of moving into larger leadership roles.
What Albright showed me was that some people will always view me negatively, but that even though sexism does exist it does not need to stop me. There will also be more wise individuals who can learn to respect my honesty, my strength, my courage, my determination, and my commitment to the things that I hold dear.
Another lesson that Albright taught me is that unlike Blanche DuBois, I do not need to be dependent on the “kindness of strangers.” She reminded me of the lesson that I am still learning—my sense of identity must come from within, must be guided by my own vision of who I am, of what my strengths are, of what I have to offer in this life, not by the good (or bad) opinion of others. I must continue to engage in the lifelong struggle to undo an internalized negative self image.
Albright also reminded me that I must never waver in my determination to seek role models and mentors who are women. I don’t mean to say that men have nothing to show me about leadership. But, listening to Albright that day reminded me about the ways in which my experiences as a woman in a patriarchy have a profound influence on how I perceive my life and how others perceive me. Given the facts of our gendered society, if I seek to create a model for what my own vision of leadership, I’m more likely to have profound insights about how that might work by understanding how other women leaders have been successful.
So, thank you to C-SPAN and to Madeleine Albright, who while just being herself one day mentored an unknown woman thousands of miles away. I hope that readers of this “thank you note” are also reminded of the biggest lesson of them all—how important it is for each of us to simply be ourselves. Do not follow someone else’s script for your life. Write your own!
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