The day I beat an ambulance by foot
1 NovOn Tuesday evening, the day after Hurricane Sandy hit, I went for a run. The subways were still out and I was dying to see Lower Manhattan without lights. I hoofed the 3 miles over to the Brooklyn waterfront, seeing downed trees and scattered debris on every side street. I reached as close to the water as the Parks Department would allow, stood on a big block, and just looked. What a strange sight it was. The city that never sleeps, dark.
The following day I decided to take a different route. I was interested to see what kind of damage had been done to Prospect Park, a place I have run through countless times in all kinds of weather. My boyfriend pointed out that running through the park, what with all the severed branches and uprooted trees, was probably not the safest thing. What if the wind blew and a branch fell? What if a tree, already dangerously leaning, lost its last bit of support from the soil and toppled over? I decided to run alongside it, glancing in every now and again to see how different it looked. So, I set out. I ran towards Atlantic Avenue, made a turn on Flatbush and started running uphill towards the park, dodging walkers and trick-or-treaters along the way. The traffic was insane. I had seen photographs of highways turned parking lots all over the East Coast. I had, myself, taken a photograph near my house with cars lined up for miles in the middle of the day. Who knows how long the rush hour drivers on Flatbush had been trying to get where ever they were going but I’m sure it was hours. Then I heard it: a siren. I looked over my shoulder and saw an ambulance for New York Methodist hospital trying to make its way through the mess. I kept running, expecting the ambulance to overtake me any second. I figured people would pull their cars to the side, allowing space for the ambulance to get through. Only, people didn’t. I stopped and looked, the ambulance wasn’t really getting anywhere. People were just sitting, stubbornly, not willing to give up their hard-earned space on the road, ignorant to the existence not only of the ambulance, but of the person requiring immediate medical care. There was nothing for me to do, I kept running. I got a few blocks further and realized that, again, the ambulance had not overtaken me. A man driving a Senior Care ambulance turned on his lights, got out of his vehicle, and directed the Methodist ambulance through a busy intersection. The ambulance, finally, passed me. I started running again and quickly overtook it. This happened several more times. Me stopping at a light, the ambulance passing me, me getting the okay to go again, running up the hill, and easily passing the ambulance by foot. It was heart breaking. I could only imagine the frustration of the EMTs trying to get to their destination, and the anguish being felt by the family of whoever it was that needed such urgent care. I couldn’t believe that, after what this city has been through, people were so concerned with getting where they were going that they were able and yet completely unwilling to allow the ambulance to pass. It was crazy. I stood on a corner next to another woman, in shock. We looked at one another and just shook our heads, she couldn’t believe it either. I thought about whether there was anything I could do, tried to imagine myself directing traffic. Every scenario I thought up ended in disaster, an even bigger traffic jam and me squashed in the middle of the road being cursed by angry drivers. I continued on. As I finished my run up Flatbush and saw the ambulance pass, only to get stuck in the mess that is Grand Army Plaza, I quietly voiced the hope that it could get where it was going on time and that none of my loved ones need urgent care over the next few days…they might not be able to get it.
Friedman’s Not-So-Novel Idea
29 OctYesterday in the middle of my work day I received a text from one of my really good friends. It read as follows:
The Friedman column is fucking pissing me off. Why would I expect him not to fucking pretend that what he is writing is nothing feminism has been saying for YEARS!
I could feel the anger pulsing through my cell phone. Obviously, I had to read it immediately if not sooner. I checked up and down the bar to see the status of all my customers drinks and got to reading. The premise of the article is basically that Friedman is “pro-life” but not in the way we all talk about being pro-life, as in the opposite of pro-choice. He is pro “respect for the sanctity of life.” Friedman has seen the light. This paragraph basically says it all:
In my world, you don’t get to call yourself “pro-life” and be against common-sense gun control — like banning public access to the kind of semiautomatic assault rifle, designed for warfare, that was used recently in a Colorado theater. You don’t get to call yourself “pro-life” and want to shut down the Environmental Protection Agency, which ensures clean air and clean water, prevents childhood asthma, preserves biodiversity and combats climate change that could disrupt every life on the planet. You don’t get to call yourself “pro-life” and oppose programs like Head Start that provide basic education, health and nutrition for the most disadvantaged children. You can call yourself a “pro-conception-to-birth, indifferent-to-life conservative.” I will never refer to someone who pickets Planned Parenthood but lobbies against common-sense gun laws as “pro-life.”
Friedman makes a good point. Read the article. But the thing is, just like what my friend said to me in her enraged text, he is making the point feminism, the point women have been making for years. Being in support of a woman’s right to choose is not only an end, but it is a means to other ends. Allowing women to choose is part of a bigger conversation about quality of life, about freedoms, about capabilities, about possibilities, about empowerment. In the mainstream acceptance of the terms “pro-life” (or “anti-choice” as many of my ilk refer to it) and “pro-choice” I think of the former as an exclusionary opinion and the latter as inclusionary. Pro-choice people are not requiring women to terminate a pregnancy. Some of us might not even be comfortable with the idea of abortion for ourselves. I think all of us would love it if there didn’t have to be any abortions at all. There is room in the pro-choice movement for everyone to do exactly with their bodies as they think is appropriate for themselves and their lives, be that terminate a pregnancy or carry a pregnancy through to term. Pro-life takes that choice away, that legal and safe choice, and makes the decision for someone. Either carry the fetus to term or endure a possibly life-threatening, illegal, unregulated procedure. There is not room in that school of thought for everyone. There is not room for me.
I guess this is a topic that I have been having a hard time with. While I want to include men in the conversation about women’s rights and bodies, while I want more male allies, I don’t want men dictating the parameters of a conversation that women have been having for decades. Let us spearhead this one, guys. Listen to us. Talk to us. Take us seriously. This is an important issue all the time and not only when you decide to give it a minute of your time. This has been mattering to us for-fucking-ever, and not just every four years. We’ve been talking about it. We’ve been educating one another. Where have you been, Friedman?
But I’ve gotten off topic. Friedman’s point is an important one for sure. But as a woman, it is incredibly, incredibly frustrating and angering to see that a point that feminists have been making for years and years does not get mainstream space until it is said by a right-leaning white man acting like he came up with it all on his own. I’ve seen my friends sharing the link to the article on Facebook and, though I’m glad the point is making its rounds in the interwebs, I am frustrated that as women we have become so accustomed to our opinions being ignored and then, years later, being co-opted and taken seriously only through the medium of a male voice that we don’t even notice it any more. It’s part of life. It’s like, “wow! Friedman! What a great and original idea!” without the follow through of “wait, didn’t I talk to my mom about this very same idea when I first started learning about abortion clinic bombings and assassinations of abortion providers? Hasn’t this term ‘pro-life’ always seemed somewhat misleading?” It’s like that old saying, “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Only I’m gonna change it. “If an opinion is voiced by a woman and no one talks about it, did that opinion ever actually get shared?”
And to my friend who sent me the text in the first place, I am thankful for you. You help keep me sane.
One Year Blogiversary!
25 OctHooray. I did it. One full year of blogging. I had initially intended on going through all the search terms that got people to my blog and listing the most amusing ones here, but, instead, I will recap a conversation I had with my mom yesterday. Enjoy.
……ring ring……
Mom: Hello?
Me: Hi, mom!
Mom: How’s my Bekah?
Me: Oh, I’m good. I actually called to ask you for some advice but first, guess what tomorrow is?
Mom: What??
Me: My one year blogiversary!
Mom: Really? Happy blogiversary, my Bekah!
Me: Speaking of ‘versarys, happy anniversary Mom!
Mom: Your blogiversay. Congratulations!
Me: Mom? Um…isn’t today your wedding anniversary? It is October 24th, right?
Mom: (Silence.) You know what? It is!! Your father is going to play cards with friends and I am going to dinner with the ladies!
Hysterical laughter.
Me: (Between giggles.) Hey Mom. Remember that time I called you and wished you a happy birthday and you didn’t even remember it was your birthday?!?
Mom: (More laughter.) I do!
Me: That was funny.
And this, dear readers, is why my Mom and Dad are awesome. And also why I have a hard time remembering anyone’s birthday. So when I forget yours, don’t be insulted. I come by it naturally.
So, happy (one day belated) anniversary, Mom and Dad. And happy blogiversary to you, blog. You’re cool.
A Beefcake Ruined my Workout
24 OctToday was the first day of my training for the New Orleans marathon which is exactly 4 months from today, on February 24th. The plan I downloaded suggested that I run 5 miles at a 9:02 pace. Okay, that’s not bad. I decided to head to the gym and run on the treadmill because the idea of running the better part of a mile uphill to run a loop of the park (involving another hill) was just too much to handle. I was feeling runner-lazy. Obviously I am taking this process very seriously. My goals are to make it to the start line prepared and injury-free and to complete the full 26.2 miles in under 3:45. I think it’s possible.*
After my run, I decided to try and get into the groove of lifting weights, something I know is necessary but I hate with the strength of a thousand suns. (Did I get that saying right?) I headed over to that weird dip thing and did some leg lifts. Then I decided to do squats. As I was walking towards the area with the body bars, dumbbells, and kettle bells I saw this rather beefy guy looking at me. I half smiled at him in what I hoped was a dismissive yet friendly way, turned my music up, and grabbed a body bar to commence the squatting. I could see him watching me in the mirror. Then I saw it. A little condescending smirk and a slight shake of the head, and then he motioned for me to take off my headphones. I pretended I didn’t see him. He did it again, this time in a more obvious manner. I couldn’t ignore him. I could have just shook my head “no” and went about my workout but I hate to be rude when I’m not (a) working and faced with some drunken asshole who I have to handle or (b) on the move, thereby escaping from the look of shock upon my response to the offensive cat calling or, my favorite, the “god bless you” whisper, I had to endure. Shudder. The conversation went as follows:
Beefcake: What do you do? Run?
Me: Yup.
Beefcake: Mind if I give you a few tips about that squat?
Me: (Yes) Um…I guess not.
He then, without getting up, began instructing me on the proper approach to the squat which, I have to say, was exactly the opposite of how everyone else ever in the history of me has told me is the proper way to do it. Whatever, I indulged him. I just wanted him to stop talking to me. He then proceeded to lecture me about the importance of working out my abs and back to make me a stronger runner. I tried to explain to him that I already know all this, that I just hate the gym but that I am working on it but he was on a roll and wouldn’t really let me get a word in edgewise. I figured it better to just let him run out of steam and move on. And then,
Beefcake: I’m a trainer here, that’s why I was giving you tips
Me: Yea, I figured.
Beefcake: I’m really good with faces. I haven’t seen you here in awhile. You been going somewhere else?
Me: A little I guess. I just really hate the gym.
Beefcake: Really? Why?
Me: (Because I am stuck talking to people like you?) I don’t know. It smells.
Beefcake: Oh, well, do you remember seeing me?
Me: No. I don’t pay attention to people in the gym. I just workout and leave and don’t look at anybody or talk to anybody. (Meaningful stare.)
I guess he got the picture because he walked away. But then I was too self-conscious to do the rest of my squats because he was nearby, doing all his fancy pull-ups and shit and I knew he was watching and would swoop in and correct me at any moment. And here’s the thing, I guess I wouldn’t have minded some tips if it weren’t for the following two things. One, that smirk. That cocky, rude smirk and that little dismissive head shake that communicated to me not concern for a possible knee injury, but a “you silly girl, let me show you how it’s done.” And two, the obvious lie that he told me when he noticed me doing my squats ‘wrong.’ I saw him see me walking over from the dip machine, which is located behind a pillar. He was just watching, and waiting. I could have done a toe-raiser and he would have corrected me. So, Beefcake at the gym, I write you this letter:
Dear Beefcake,
If you want to help someone out with something, kindly be a little less condescending and a little less of a liar. You ruined my workout. Please never talk to me again. Ever.
From
The Runner with the Long Hair
*Just a little side note. I will not, going forward, subject you, dear readers, to the ins and outs of my marathon training. I might make reference to it here and there, but that’s about it. So, worry not, details of my Yasso 800s will not take the place of my ranting about peeping toms, people making shitty comparisons to Hitler, or Donald Trump, who easily makes my top 5 least favorite people list.
Money > People
23 OctIf you haven’t yet noticed through reading this blog, or if you don’t already know about this through knowing me personally, I work in parallels. I read things, I get upset about things, but sometimes the only way for me to make sense of it all is to compare the thing I am upset about — but that I lack the language to work through — to something else seemingly unconnected to it and draw a line between the two. I guess I like to create an equal playing field within my mind and hold dissimilar things to similar standards. That’s how I got from domestic violence within a human rights framework to trade agreements. Onward.
This past week I had the pleasure of leaving Brooklyn and traveling, via Bolt Bus, to Washington, DC to visit a very good friend of mine who just recently started law school. The timing couldn’t have been better. She was on fall break and needed a small brain vacation from the stresses of the first year of law school which, as I understand it, is a torturous experience. I needed a vacation from the stresses associated with the ridiculous amount of guilt I feel about avoiding my thesis. It’s basically become a full-time job. Anyway, one of the things we did while I was down there was attend a super interesting talk about the idea of domestic violence within the international human rights framework. Yea, I didn’t really understand how that worked either. So here is my very basic explanation of the things we learned about, lacking probably crucial details, because my memory just ain’t what it used to be.
So basically what I learned was that being a woman is a lot of times terrible. And, not surprisingly, this is no different within the legal framework. The professor and guest lecturer went over a number of cases over the past few decades within the United States that basically eroded the ability of victims of domestic violence (generally women and children) to bring charges against the state for negligence. When someone takes out a restraining order, the idea is not that the state is in that person’s house, intervening at the first sign of trouble. Instead, the police (or so I thought) have an obligation to enforce a restraining order if the holder of it calls them, reporting that the order has been broken in some way. I learned that although one would think that a mandatory restraining order means that the police, an agent of the state by the way (until they are inevitably privatized which scares the shit out of me), are required to protect the holder of the order of protection from the person she took it out against. That, oddly enough, is not exactly the case. Mandatory, in this case, doesn’t actually mean mandatory. The state is under no legal obligation to protect a victim from her victimizer even if she has gone through the appropriate mechanisms to seek guaranteed safety. There were a few different legal avenues a woman could previously take to bring charges against the state for negligence. All of those avenues have been systematically eroded, now leaving a victim without means to sue the state if, say, her children are murdered at the hands of her violent ex-husband from whom she is supposedly protected. Scary, right? So what is the next step?
This is where international human rights enters. Human rights, or at least the way that I think about them, are based upon this moral and ethical understanding that all people are equal. I know that is super simplistic. What has happened in the US in terms of DV is that the state apparatus is protecting itself from the whims of its citizens. Part of human rights is that they protect individuals from the whims of the state. So, the next step could be that women, who have exhausted all domestic options in terms of holding someone accountable for the actions, or lack thereof, of the state or an actor of the state, bring their tale of violated rights to an international human rights body. That body, in the case we heard about it was the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), which then looks at the facts, looks at the legislative trail and comes to a decision as to whether or not an individual’s human rights have been violated and then sends that finding to the offending state, allowing the state in question to respond. In the case of the US who, obviously if you know anything about our record on this sort of thing,* has not ratified whatever it needs to ratify to be held accountable by this organization and so whatever the IACHR might find in the case of the US basically holds no water. It is an embarrassment to the US, sure, but there is nothing that the IACHR can do. It has no power.
Part of the reason for this is that the United States, in all its exceptionalism and all its talk about holding other countries accountable for human rights violations, does not want to be held accountable for its own. It does not want to give any other body jurisdiction over the affairs within its borders. It’s like human rights isolationism. So aside from a strongly worded letter, a victim has absolutely no recourse. No wait while I blow your mind even more.
I just recently (as in about 20 minutes ago when I decided to write this blog) read this article in Salon by Matt Stoller. It’s worth a read and contains a whole lot more about the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP) than what I am about to say. Basically, the TPP, along with NAFTA and the World Trade Organization, gives foreign companies the rights to impact US law. The WTO, for example, can put sanctions on the US if its domestic environmental, financial and social interest laws are too restrictive of foreign products. Have you noticed that all tuna cans no longer have huge labels pronouncing that product dolphin-free? That’s because it was negatively impacting companies exporting tuna to the US. When we are dealing at an international level without standardization in regards to manufacturing and product safety, this is not something we can really afford. And yet we do it. Somehow it is reasonable to amend our laws to permit the sale of candy-flavored cigarettes but not to guarantee state-sanctioned protection of a domestic violence victim. Abiding by international trade laws is more important than human rights norms. Placating trade partners is more important than protecting our citizens. Money is more important than people.
* The US has not ratified the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child or the landmine ban, among other things. I leave you to imagine why that might be.
franklyrebekah 