DIY History | Transcribe | Campus Culture | Ain't I A Woman? newspapers, June 1970-July 1971

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Ain't I A Woman? newspapers, June 1970-July 1971

1971-04-30 "Ain't I a Woman?" Page 8

   Most of the experiences we had during the five days from the takeover of the Modern Language House to the University's granting of a house for the day care center are ones most of my sisters and I had never had before: being arrested and jailed, and the "shadowing" action we did on the Vice-Provost. But because of the support of my sisters (in addition to some very specific middle-class privileges we all shared) jail did not intimidate us and university officials could not coopt our efforts.
   My first sharp vision of things to come, both with regard to (1) our really being jailed and (2) the role that sisterhood would take in all that, appeared while we were still in the Language House. One of my sisters--who works in the same cell as five of us who were later arrested--came to us and hugged us with tears in her eyes and said she had to go before the police came. Her hassles with an extremely sexist and politically conservative boss are acute; and we all knew how desperately she needs to keep her job to support all three people in her family. I was pretty anxious myself when, a few minutes later, I was put alone in a police car. Then two of my sisters joined me, and the intimidation of that moment was gone. We went to the station with out arms around each other and smiling in our secret strength. The same thing happened later as we were taken to the jail cell. At first, I was the only one in the cell; moments of fright (they'd already started hassling us, and I knew an uncomfortable amount about the deliberate dehumanization that occurs in the "total institution"): then the sisters were brought in a few at a time until--a rush of relief--we were, all eight of us, together. 
   We were feeling good--given the circumstances. The facilities available for women (one 9 x 12 room in the whole county jail and that without any fire escape) were awful compared to the men's (which are nine times that size, include books, t.v., walking space). But still our morale was fantastically high. Pictures of Dum Dum children and of each of us were being drawn on the walls and one sister had just finished lettering Sisterhood is Powerful with a pen they hadn't taken away from us, when one matron came in and told us with a self-satisfied air that we'd have to wash off anything we wrote before we left. When we could no longer hear her steps going down the stairs, one quiet voice said, "Then we'll just have to carve it in." And we did. In the course of our stay there we sang and learned to ululate (like the women in Algeria). These things, along with frequent notes and indications of support from our friends outside, made us feel pretty much on top of it all.
   But Sunday night, unexpectedly, one of us was bonded out. Then another and another. We'd known that we'd be gotten out eventually, but we hadn't expected to be taken away little by little. The women bonded out didn't want to leave and those of us remaining felt the threat to our morale: our physical unity was important to our strength. It was then that we decided that the last two or three people would refuse to be bailed out separately. No one was to be left alone in that place, without a sister for support. The next woman to leave gave those instructions to the bailiff.

On Being Middle-Class
   Certainly some of our confidence was based on our middle-class privileges and not on our sisterhood. We knew bail money for us would come from somewhere. We were, thanks to other middle-class advantages, 

[photo]

not long term prisoners. Our healthy rebellion against the way people are treated in jails made us say over and over again that there should be no jails at all. We know, too, that because we are middle class (or offspring of middle class people) we are unaccustomed to being handled in an authoritarian, shut-up-I'm-in-charge-here-and-don't-you-forget-it-manner, and we have the anger and strength to fight against it: the deputy's hassling one of us by accusing her of being a junkie (and then acting as if he were doing it out of "concern" for her); the matron's calling one of the sisters names for things she's alleged to have written about that jail; the continual references to people as "prisoners"; the repeated, explicit statements that everything we wanted depended on our jailors and their ever-changing whims (number of phone calls, time of the one you had a right to, and whether or not you got your flue or virus medication (two of the 17 were sick when jailed)).
   Curiously enough, our being middle-class and female (it didn't happen to the men) made us the victims of a wierd kind of double-bind that the matrons kept putting us through. They would come in and sit down with us and act as if they were at a tea-party in someone's living room, and then hit us with a not-very-well-disguised-put-down: "Have fun, girls." (heh, heh); and a long rap on 'how I think day care is fine, but your tactics...'
   One last thing on being middle class.
   Later in the week, after we were our and one of my sisters and I were "shadowing" the Vice-Provost (lest he forget our urgent need for a daycare center), we had to follow him to the conference rooms of a fat-cat hotel in town where he was having a meeting. My sister and I were standing there in our jeans and jackets and looking really "out of place." In the course of our waiting we saw a number of people who were also coming to that meeting. In fact, I saw two of whom I used to go to those very meetings. I don't know whether to call living in that conference room culture a middle class disadvantage or what. or maybe the way I felt there in my jeans was the advantage a 'radical' has over a 'liberal' (if any of these categories exist in reality). But I felt so good, like laughing to myself. Repeatedly, the Vice-Provost, in an attempt to be 'nice' (read cooptive?) asked my sister and me to come inside and sit down with them, where we'd be, in his words "More comfortable." He will never realize with what a sense of the truth that I replied, "No, thank you, we're more comfortable here."

I have volunteered at Dum Dum for almost a year now although I have never been involved in the planning or decision making process. I didn't feel I had that kind of energy because of the time I put in working on AIAW. I also knew that I have very ambivalent feelings about community organizing and knew that I did not choose to work with men. I therefore did not attend the weekly cooperative meetings.
   I heard about the building take over hours after it had occurred. I did not know that people were thinking about doing it but nothing had been definite. It upset me that my living collective was called after the action had already taken place and asked to support it. I'm not sure just how much of my upset was due to not having been informed before hand since I had put in as much time at Dum Dum as most of those who participated in the action or how much was due to the fact that I live in a women's collective and women I live with were involved. Two women living in the collective were among those arrested. 
   
    Living in a collective like ours you are affected by every thing anyone in the house does and I guess I think we should inform one another about anything that is going to seriously disrupt that house. The phone in our house did not stop ringing until two or three in the morning with either questions about what happened and what people could do (which I didn't know) or requests of us to call people, organize support for the action etc. Many of the requests I couldn't fulfill because I had to work that week. Many of the requests I wouldn't do under any circumstances. I have felt pretty burned out from a year of political work and tensions, and pretty freaked out about my economic situation so I was in all around bad mental shape and the tensions of that day, of feeling that I had a responsibility  to relate to something that I had not had any say in nor had I been informed of, really did me in.
     
   Several of us went down to the building after we heard about the take over. We arrived in time to see people arrested and to retrieve the children of arrested parents. The scene was so familiar it was almost boring. Everyone acted out there established roles -  the people making a simple request, taking a building that they had a right to have; the university having all the power and owning the building. So the university administrators got out their police and had those who chose to remain in the building removed and arrested. Sweet and simple; expected and despicable. Expected because anything people do to help themselves and each other is bound to be against the law in this country and yet no matter how the cards are stacked in this capitalist society will always be despicable to me.
   I am working at a temporary job on a factory line, the first work I've had since September. Our living collective was broke and had many bills which we couldn't pay. If I had gotten arrested I could not have paid back anyone who would have bailed me out and people closest to me who would have somehow gotten the bail together could not really afford it. The Dum Dum action cost $1700 in bail money and times are hard. That some how seems like a blaring contradiction to me. 
   While I watch people being taken from the building and kept track of the probable bill, I thought how dumb middle-class people were. They were paying more for that one day action than they will now pay for a years rent. All my life I thought middle class people had something - some quality that I wanted. They have money and a secure background of having money so that allows them to be dumber than me. It allows them to go to jail being sure that they'll be out in a day. Their experience is so different from that of most people who have gone to jail or remain there awaiting trial. I don't know what is correct political strategy in a time of depression but I think that is a question women should be addressing now. 

8. dum dum daycare dum dum daycare dum dum daycare dum dum daycare dum dum daycare

Saving...

Most of the experiences we had during the five days from the takeover of the Modern Language House to the University's granting of a house for the day care center are ones most of my sisters and I had never had before: being arrested and jailed, and the "shadowing" action we did on the Vice-Provost. But because of the support of my sisters (in addition to some very specific middle-class privileges we all shared) jail did not intimidate us and university officials could not coopt our efforts. My first sharp vision of things to come, both with regard to (1) our really being jailed and (2) the role that sisterhood would take in all that, appeared while we were still in the Language House. One of my sisters--who works in the same cell as five of us who were later arrested--came to us and hugged us with tears in her eyes and said she had to go before the police came. Her hassles with an extremely sexist and politically conservative boss are acute; and we all knew how desperately she needs to keep her job to support all three people in her family. I was pretty anxious myself when, a few minutes later, I was put alone in a police car. Then two of my sisters joined me, and the intimidation of that moment was gone. We went to the station with out arms around each other and smiling in our secret strength. The same thing happened later as we were taken to the jail cell. At first, I was the only one in the cell; moments of fright (they'd already started hassling us, and I knew an uncomfortable amount about the deliberate dehumanization that occurs in the "total institution"): then the sisters were brought in a few at a time until--a rush of relief--we were, all eight of us, together. We were feeling good--given the circumstances. The facilities available for women (one 9 x 12 room in the whole county jail and that without any fire escape) were awful compared to the men's (which are nine times that size, include books, t.v., walking space). But still our morale was fantastically high. Pictures of Dum Dum children and of each of us were being drawn on the walls and one sister had just finished lettering Sisterhood is Powerful with a pen they hadn't taken away from us, when one matron came in and told us with a self-satisfied air that we'd have to wash off anything we wrote before we left. When we could no longer hear her steps going down the stairs, one quiet voice said, "Then we'll just have to carve it in." And we did. In the course of our stay there we sang and learned to ululate (like the women in Algeria). These things, along with frequent notes and indications of support from our friends outside, made us feel pretty much on top of it all. But Sunday night, unexpectedly, one of us was bonded out. Then another and another. We'd known that we'd be gotten out eventually, but we hadn't expected to be taken away little by little. The women bonded out didn't want to leave and those of us remaining felt the threat to our morale: our physical unity was important to our strength. It was then that we decided that the last two or three people would refuse to be bailed out separately. No one was to be left alone in that place, without a sister for support. The next woman to leave gave those instructions to the bailiff. On Being Middle-Class Certainly some of our confidence was based on our middle-class privileges and not on our sisterhood. We knew bail money for us would come from somewhere. We were, thanks to other middle-class advantages, [photo] not long term prisoners. Our healthy rebellion against the way people are treated in jails made us say over and over again that there should be no jails at all. We know, too, that because we are middle class (or offspring of middle class people) we are unaccustomed to being handled in an authoritarian, shut-up-I'm-in-charge-here-and-don't-you-forget-it-manner, and we have the anger and strength to fight against it: the deputy's hassling one of us by accusing her of being a junkie (and then acting as if he were doing it out of "concern" for her); the matron's calling one of the sisters names for things she's alleged to have written about that jail; the continual references to people as "prisoners"; the repeated, explicit statements that everything we wanted depended on our jailors and their ever-changing whims (number of phone calls, time of the one you had a right to, and whether or not you got your flue or virus medication (two of the 17 were sick when jailed)). Curiously enough, our being middle-class and female (it didn't happen to the men) made us the victims of a wierd kind of double-bind that the matrons kept putting us through. They would come in and sit down with us and act as if they were at a tea-party in someone's living room, and then hit us with a not-very-well-disguised-put-down: "Have fun, girls." (heh, heh); and a long rap on 'how I think day care is fine, but your tactics...' One last thing on being middle class. Later in the week, after we were our and one of my sisters and I were "shadowing" the Vice-Provost (lest he forget our urgent need for a daycare center), we had to follow him to the conference rooms of a fat-cat hotel in town where he was having a meeting. My sister and I were standing there in our jeans and jackets and looking really "out of place." In the course of our waiting we saw a number of people who were also coming to that meeting. In fact, I saw two of whom I used to go to those very meetings. I don't know whether to call living in that conference room culture a middle class disadvantage or what. or maybe the way I felt there in my jeans was the advantage a 'radical' has over a 'liberal' (if any of these categories exist in reality). But I felt so good, like laughing to myself. Repeatedly, the Vice-Provost, in an attempt to be 'nice' (read cooptive?) asked my sister and me to come inside and sit down with them, where we'd be, in his words "More comfortable." He will never realize with what a sense of the truth that I replied, "No, thank you, we're more comfortable here." I have volunteered at Dum Dum for almost a year now although I have never been involved in the planning or decision making process. I didn't feel I had that kind of energy because of the time I put in working on AIAW. I also knew that I have very ambivalent feelings about community organizing and knew that I did not choose to work with men. I therefore did not attend the weekly cooperative meetings. I heard about the building take over hours after it had occurred. I did not know that people were thinking about doing it but nothing had been definite. It upset me that my living collective was called after the action had already taken place and asked to support it. I'm not sure just how much of my upset was due to not having been informed before hand since I had put in as much time at Dum Dum as most of those who participated in the action or how much was due to the fact that I live in a women's collective and women I live with were involved. Two women living in the collective were among those arrested. Living in a collective like ours you are affected by every thing anyone in the house does and I guess I think we should inform one another about anything that is going to seriously disrupt that house. The phone in our house did not stop ringing until two or three in the morning with either questions about what happened and what people could do (which I didn't know) or requests of us to call people, organize support for the action etc. Many of the requests I couldn't fulfill because I had to work that week. Many of the requests I wouldn't do under any circumstances. I have felt pretty burned out from a year of political work and tensions, and pretty freaked out about my economic situation so I was in all around bad mental shape and the tensions of that day, of feeling that I had a responsibility to relate to something that I had not had any say in nor had I been informed of, really did me in. Several of us went down to the building after we heard about the take over. We arrived in time to see people arrested and to retrieve the children of arrested parents. The scene was so familiar it was almost boring. Everyone acted out there established roles - the people making a simple request, taking a building that they had a right to have; the university having all the power and owning the building. So the university administrators got out their police and had those who chose to remain in the building removed and arrested. Sweet and simple; expected and despicable. Expected because anything people do to help themselves and each other is bound to be against the law in this country and yet no matter how the cards are stacked in this capitalist society will always be despicable to me. I am working at a temporary job on a factory line, the first work I've had since September. Our living collective was broke and had many bills which we couldn't pay. If I had gotten arrested I could not have paid back anyone who would have bailed me out and people closest to me who would have somehow gotten the bail together could not really afford it. The Dum Dum action cost $1700 in bail money and times are hard. That some how seems like a blaring contradiction to me. While I watch people being taken from the building and kept track of the probable bill, I thought how dumb middle-class people were. They were paying more for that one day action than they will now pay for a years rent. All my life I thought middle class people had something - some quality that I wanted. They have money and a secure background of having money so that allows them to be dumber than me. It allows them to go to jail being sure that they'll be out in a day. Their experience is so different from that of most people who have gone to jail or remain there awaiting trial. I don't know what is correct political strategy in a time of depression but I think that is a question women should be addressing now. 8. dum dum daycare dum dum daycare dum dum daycare dum dum daycare dum dum daycare